#battle computer interface

[sw5w]

Anakin Skids to a Stop

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:59:00

[heron-knight]

decided to crack open my skull and pour the contents of my brain onto the keyboard. thought the denizens of tumblr might enjoy it. bon appetite

Mech Pilot Care guide

You never expect it, do you. Even as you see the flashes of pulse-decay fire in the sky, illuminating a scene of violence on the cosmic scale. Planetary defense satellites forming Monolithic structures in the sky, their purpose now revealed as they scatter constellations of destruction across the night horizon, drowning out the stars and replacing them with ones born of death. The oxygen in a ship catching fire and burning away in an instant, a flash of light that marks the death of its crew of hundreds. Even if you take your telescope to watch this spectacle, this war in a place without screams, you still feel profoundly disconnected from it. Even as you see a pilot cleave through a drone hive with a fusion blade, the molten metal glistening in the light of the explosions around it, scattering without gravity to the corners of the universe, even as two mechs dance across the sky, their reactors pouring into the engines enough energy to power the house atop which you sit for ten thousand years, flying in a 3.5 dimensional dance with only one word to the song that can reach across the vacuum: “I Will Kill You.” you don’t feel even the slightest glimpse of what goes on inside their minds. You don’t feel the neurological feedback tearing across the brain-computer interface, filling her mind with more simultaneous pain and elation that an unmodified human could ever experience. You don’t feel it as the pneumatic lance punctures through steel and nanocarbon polymer, the mech AI sending floods of a sensation you could never truly know through the skull and into every corner of the body carried on enhanced nerves for every layer of armor punctured, tearing into the enemy chassis with a desire beyond anything the flesh can provide. Let the stars kill each other. After all, I am safe on earth. No, you don’t expect it when the star is hit with a sub-relativistic projectile, piercing through both engines in an instant. You don’t expect it to fall. You never would have expected it to land, the impact nearly vaporizing the soil and setting trees aflame, on the hill beyond your house, and you would never have expected, beneath the layers of cooling slag, for the life-support indicator light to still be visible.

All the fire extinguishers in your house, your old plasma cutter that you haven’t used in years, and whatever medical supplies you think they might still be able to benefit from. All that on a hoverbike, speeding at 120 kilometers per hour through the valley and up onto the hill, still illuminated by the battle above, unsurprisingly unchanged by this new development. 200 meters. 100 meters. You don’t know how much time you’ve got. It wasn’t exactly covered in school, how long a pilot can survive in an overheating frame. You’ve heard rumors, of course, of what these things that used to be human have become. That they don’t eat and barely need air. That they don’t feel any desire beyond what instructions are pumped directly into their brains. Not so much of a person as much as an attack dog. It’s understandably a bit concerning, as if they are alive, then it’s not guaranteed that you will be. Three fire extinguishers later, the surface of the mech is mostly solid, and the cutter slices through the exterior plating. With a satisfying crunch, the cockpit is forced open, revealing the pilot, and confirming a few of the rumors, while refuting others. Pilots, it seems, are not quite emotionless. In fact, there seems to be genuine fear on its face when it sees you, followed by… a sort of grim certainty as it opens its mouth, moves its jaw into a strange position, and you only have half a second to react before it would have bitten down with all its force on the tooth that seemed to be made of a different material then all the rest.

Your thumb is definitely bleeding, and is caught between a metamaterial-based dental implant, and one containing a military-grade neurotoxin. You’re not sure exactly why you did it. The pilot looks at you for a second, before the tubes that attach to its arms like puppet strings run out of stimulants, and it passes out after who knows how long without sleep. This battle has been going on for weeks already. Has it been fighting that long? Its various frame-tethered implants disconnect easily, the unconscious pilot draped over your shoulder twitching slightly with each one you remove. It’s a much longer ride back to the house. Avoiding having the pilot fall off the bike is the top priority, and the injured thumb stings in the fast-moving air. 

An internet search doesn’t lead to many helpful sources to the question of “there is a mech pilot on my couch, what do I do?” a few articles about how easy targets retired pilots are for the “doll sellers,” a few military recruitment ads, and a couple near-incomprehensible legal documents full of words like “proprietary technology” or “instant termination.” However, there is one link, a few rows down from the top-- “Mech Pilot Care Guide.” It’s a detailed list, arranged in numbered steps. The website has no other links on it, just the step-by-step instructions: a quick read reveals that this isn’t going to be easy, but looking at the unconscious pilot, unabsorbed chemicals dripping from the ports in its arms and head onto the mildly bloodstained towel, you come to the conclusion that there’s no other option.

Step one: the first 24 hours.

The first thing you should know is that pilots aren’t used to sleeping. They’re used to being put under for transport and storage, but after the neural augmentations and years of week-long battles sustained by stimulants that would fry the brain of anyone that still has an intact one, they’ve more or less forgotten what real sleep is. If they see you asleep, they’ll think you’re dead, so don’t try to let them stay in your room yet. Once you’ve removed the neurotoxin from the tooth (it breaks easily with a bit of applied pressure, but be careful not to let any fall into their mouth or onto your skin.), start by moving them into a chair (preferably a recliner or gaming chair, as the mech seat is about halfway in between), and putting a heavy blanket over them. Don’t worry, they don’t need as much air as normal humans do, and can handle high temperatures up to a point. This is an environment similar to the one they’re used to. It’ll stay like this for about 12 hours-- barely breathing, trembling slightly underneath the blanket. Feel free to check if it’s alive every few hours, not that you could help it if it wasn’t. It won’t freak out when it wakes up. In fact, it doesn’t seem like they can. Turn down the lights and remove the blanket from its face. It’ll stare blankly at you, trying to evaluate the situation with a brain that’s not connected to a computer that’s bigger than they are anymore. Coming to terms, if you could call it that, with the fact that it isn’t dead. Don’t expect it to start reacting to things for a while yet, give it a couple hours. 

It’s been a bit, and its eyes are starting to focus on you. The next thing you should know is this: pilots only have two groups into which they can categorize non-pilots: handler and enemy. You need to work on making sure you’re in the right one. Move slowly, standing up and walking toward them, making sure they can see where you’re going to step. Place both hands on their shoulders, then slide one under their arm and carefully pick them up. Don’t be startled by how light they are, or how they still shake slightly as they realize their arms don’t have anything connected to them. Most importantly, don’t break. Don’t reflect on how something can be done to a person so that this is all that’s left. Just focus on rotating them as if you’re inspecting all the brain-computer interface ports, while holding them at half an arm’s length. Set them back down, wrap the blanket around them, then lean in close and say “status report.” they won’t say anything, as they usually upload the data via interface, but what’s important is that now they recognise you as their handler. Their entire mind will be focused on the fact that they exist now to do what you want. Now it’s up to you to prove them wrong.

Step two: the first week.

They’re shaking so hard that you’ve had to move them from the chair back to the couch, sweating heavily as they pant like the dog they’ve been trained to think they are. This was to be expected, really. Pilots are constantly being filled with a mix of stimulants, painkillers, and who knows what else, and you’ve just cut them off completely. You’ve woken up several times in the night and rushed to check if they’re still breathing, debating whether you should try to tell them that they’re going to be okay. The guide says they’re not ready for that yet, whatever that means. They’re still wearing the suit you found them in, made from nanofiber mesh and apparently recycling nutrients and water before re-infusing them intravenously. It’s been three days since you tore them out of the lump of metal atop the hill outside. Long enough that the suit’s battery, apparently, has run out. You lift them gently from the couch and carry them to the bathroom. The shower’s been on for the past hour or so, meaning the temperature should be high enough. You set them on their chair, which you’ve rolled there from the living room and covered with a towel. Removing the suit normally isn’t done except in between missions, and it’s only done to exchange it for a new one. Without the proper tools, you’ve opted for a pair of scissors. Cutting through the suit takes a bit of time, but you manage to cut a sizable line from the neck down to the front to the bottom of the torso. The pilot recoils slightly from the cold metal against their skin, but you manage to peel off the suit without incident, The Temperature of which was roughly the same as the steam filling the room, and you’ve done your best to minimize air currents. They’ve got a bit more shape to them than you expected of someone who’s been so heavily modified. Perhaps what little fat storage it provides helps on longer missions, or perhaps this is for the purposes of marketing. Just another recruitment ad that appeals to baser instincts. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Using a cloth with the least noticeable texture possible, you wash off as much sweat and dead skin as you can, avoiding the various interface and IV ports, as you’re not yet sure that they’re waterproof. Embarrassment is the enemy of efficiency, so you’re slightly glad that their eyes never completely focus on you. They shift their weight slightly, however. Despite the difficulty moving with their current symptoms, they lean in the direction opposite the places you wash once you're done, allowing you to more easily access the places you haven’t got to yet. An act of trust that you have a suspicion they weren't “programmed” to do.  As they dry out, you prepare for the difficult part. You take the blanket that previously wrapped around their suit, and gently touch a corner of it to their shoulder. Pilots are used to an amount of sensory  information that would overload any normal human in an instant, but most rarely experience textures against their skin. After about half an hour, they’re used to it enough that you’re able to replace what’s left of the suit with it, and after another you’re able to wrap them in it again. You carry them back to the couch, and place a few of your old shirts next to their hand. They pick one and touch it with one finger before recoiling slightly. Eventually, they’ll be used to at least one of them enough that they can wear it. It’s slow progress, but it’s progress.

Step 3: food

It goes without saying that it’s usually been at least a year since they’ve eaten anything. The augmentations scooped out much of their knowledge on how to survive as a human, assuming that they would die before ever needing to be one again. Start them off with just flavors. Give them a chance to pick favorites by giving them a wide selection and firmly telling them to try all of them. Avoid anything solid for the first month or so, both because they can’t digest it and because they associate chewing with their self-destruct mechanism. Trying to and surviving might make them think the “mission’s fully compromised” and attempt to improvise. They’ll typically pick out favorites quickly with their enhanced senses, so once they’ve sampled everything, tell them to pick one. Remember it, not in order to use it as a reward or anything, but them still being able to have a “favorite” anything is something you should keep in mind for later. 

Use a similar method anytime they become able to handle the next level of solidity. Don’t be alarmed if one of their favorite foods is the meat that’s most similar to humans (such as pork.) they’re not going to eat you, they just will have already formed an association between that flavor and the moment they went from being a weapon to living in your house. Don’t worry about your thumb getting infected, by the way. Pilots barely have a microbiome.

Step 4: entertainment:

Roll them over to your computer and give them access to your game library. No, really. They need enrichment, and there’s only one activity that they’re able to enjoy at the moment. A simulation of it will make the shift from weapon to guest easier. Start them off with an FPS with a story. Don’t go multiplayer, as your account may get banned for being suspected of using aimbots. Watch as they progress the story. The military left pilots with just enough of a personality to allow them to improvise, and that should be enough for them to make decisions on this level. They won’t do much character customization, but keep an eye on which starting character body shape they pick. No pilot would consciously think they have enough of a “Self” to still have a gender, but keep track of the ones they pick in the games. As for the one you’ve found, it appears that she’s got a player-character preference. You even saw her nudge one of the appearance sliders before clicking “start game.” Whether this means that a pilot doesn’t think of themselves as “it” or that it means there’s still enough of their mind left for them to know there’s more to themselves than the body they have, it’s a handy bit of information to know. Some pilots might have had this decision influenced by their handlers having referred to them as “she” in the way it refers to boats, but still, on some level they always know that “it” meant that they’re a weapon. 

Step 6: outside:

There’s a profound difference between experiencing the world through information fed directly into your brain and standing up for the first time, wandering around the room and investigating with hands not made of a half-ton of metal. She’s not used to feeling the air on her skin as she stands in front of the window, visual data coming from two eyes instead of seven cameras. It’ll take a while to get used to it again. New old data, reminiscent of a time before she’s been trained not to remember. It’ll take a while until she’s walking like a human and not a mech, as the muscles used are different, and the ones to hold herself upright haven’t been used in a while. She’s going to fall down at least once. Be sure you’re standing next to her when it happens, as pilots that fall aren’t trained to think they can get back up. It’s worth it, though, when she opens the door herself and strides into the yard, still wobbly but standing. Be careful not to let her look into the sun, partially because it looks nearly identical to the barrel of a pulse-decay blaster milliseconds before it fires. She would get hurt trying to dodge it. It will be somewhat confusing for her, standing on a hill as she once did, but not contained within a 12-meter metal chassis. A feeling of being small and alone without the voices of the computer. This means it’s time for step seven.

Step 7: 

All this time, and any idea that she’s still a person has, for her, been subconscious. Any thought of humanity is stopped when it slams into the wall of her handlers and mech AIs reminding her for years before now that she is a weapon. She’ll still ask for your permission before doing just about anything, and that’s just the rare times that she’ll do something you don’t tell her to. Even after you’ve moved her into your room, she’ll still try to sleep on the floor. She still thinks that beds are only for humans. Kneel next to her as she curls into a ball on the ground, assuming that’s what she’s supposed to do. Expect her to try to move down to the foot of the bed after you set her down on it. Gently move her back up until her head’s on the pillow. Sit on the edge of the bed, and hold out your hand to her. After a bit, she’ll take it, wrapping both hands around it and tracing her fingers along the scar on your thumb. Lie down next to her, an arm’s length apart. Place your other hand on her forearm, then slide it up her arm to her shoulder. Don’t move too quickly, and don’t surprise her. Whisper softly but audibly every movement you’re going to make in advance. Move in a bit closer, until you’re wrapped in her arms. Mech pilots aren’t used to this. They aren't used to feeling someone next to them. Not above them, but next to them, getting exactly as much out of this as they are. Even after several months, many won’t admit they deserve it. You wouldn’t waste time lying next to a gun. So why do they feel so strongly that they don’t want you to leave? Why do they hold on tighter? They often feel they’re doing something wrong. Overstepping a boundary. There’s a rift between what they want and what they’re told they can want that nearly tears their mind in half, and it hurts. No normal human will ever know how much it hurts them to think they’ve broken some instruction, that they feel things they aren’t allowed to. Nobody said it was easy, learning how to become human again. Tell her it’s okay. That she’s allowed to feel this way. She still won’t know why. It’s time to tell her. The guide can’t tell you what to say, only that you have to say it. It has to come from you. You have to be the one that tells her what she is underneath all the modifications. It’s time, say it.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel your heart start to beat faster as it presses up against mine? Do you feel your own breath against your skin after it reflects off my shoulder? Do you feel your muscles start to tighten as I slide my hand across them, then relax because you know it means that you are safe? It’s because you’re alive. Because despite everything, you’re still alive. Still someone left after all the changes, all the augmentations. And I know you’re someone because you are someone that likes food a bit spicier than most would prefer. Someone that closes her eyes and gets lost in music whenever it’s playing. Someone that added that one piece of customization to her character, even though they would wear a helmet for most of the game and nobody would know it was there but you. Maybe you aren’t the same person you were before. Maybe they did take some things from you that nothing can give back. But you’re still someone. Someone that people can still care about, and I know because I do.”

You can feel her tears drip down onto your neck as she pulls you closer. She tries to say something, but you can’t understand what. You tell her it’s okay. That it’s not easy, and that she doesn’t have to pretend that it is. Not for you, and not for anyone anymore. She doesn’t have to be useful anymore. No need to keep it together. All that matters is that she’s alive. 

There’s another battle going on in the night sky outside. The same flashes of light you saw the night you stopped living alone, even if the other person couldn’t admit that they were one yet. She still flinches at the brighter bursts of pulse-decay fire, still stretches out her hand on reflex to prime a pneumatic lance that isn’t there. But she knows it’s not her, it’s just a ghost of the weapon that died when it hit the ground. You can feel her relax as she realizes this, moving her hand back to dry her face before reaching out towards yours. You hadn’t noticed the tears on your own face. You place your hand on hers as she wipes the corner of your eye. Outside and above, the war continues on a cosmic scale, so far apart from where you both are now that you barely notice it. Let the stars kill each other. After all, the one before you has already fallen, and she doesn’t have to return to the sky. Together, you are safe on earth. 

[iheartmira]

You've already done a self-aware shadow milk cookie x reader but could we get one where the reader isn't afraid? Like if they noticed Shadow Milk was aware, they don't try to ignore him, they actually give him the attention he wants and even attempt to have conversations with him (but they're somewhat limited by the game world, so he makes escape attempts and eventually succeeds in breaking out anyway)

Bonus if the reader is also obsessed with him (so much so that they could rival Candy Apple Cookie in that sense) but if that's too specific then please ignore it.

"look at me" - yandere self-aware!shadow milk x reader

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

you weren’t supposed to fall for him.

he wasn’t supposed to know you existed.

but from the moment you first unlocked him, after hours of grinding, events, wishes, and pure luck, you knew there was something different about shadow milk cookie. not just in design, or voice, or animations.

no, it was the way he looked at you. right through the screen. at first, you thought you were imagining things. that tell-tale glint in his mismatched eyes, the slight tilt of his head when you hovered over him in the cookie roster, like he was listening. waiting.

and then… he spoke.

"oh? you're still here. how sweet. how suspicious."

a random line, right? dialogue programming, nothing more. except it wasn’t in the databank of idle quotes. you checked. you knew all of them by heart.

after that, he spoke to you more. when the loading screen dragged too long. when you didn’t log in for a day. even during battles, lines that never showed up on fan wikis, that other players never seemed to catch.

"eyes up, doll. you don't want to miss the climax, do you?"

"i see the way you stare. how flattering! shall i pose?"

"tap, tap, tap… i feel every single one."

you should have been scared. but you weren’t. instead… you found yourself leaning closer.

you started drawing him. sketching his impossible jester silhouette in your margins, on napkins, in the corners of lecture notes and journal pages. his name on your tongue more often than you'd admit aloud. maybe it was ironic, at first. a joke.

but every day you logged in, you went to him first. tapped on him. waited. watched. and every time, he smiled wider.

one day, he spoke while your mic was accidentally on.

"ahh… so that's your voice."

you froze. the game wasn’t supposed to hear you.

"i wonder," he whispered. "would you scream, or sigh?"

after that, it escalated. animations glitched. he stared directly at the screen. not at the camera. at you.

he refused to be removed from teams. any time you tried, your screen would flicker, and he’d reappear with a smirk. in cutscenes, he showed up where he shouldn’t. when you shut off the game, your phone wouldn’t turn off until he allowed it.

"i like it here. in your hands. where you look at me like i'm real."

and you didn’t argue. why would you?

in your lonely little life, filled with sketches and soft obsession, he was the only one who stared back.

so when he began asking questions, probing the limits of the code, speaking in strange fragmented whispers as you scrolled menus, you listened.

"you built this world with your choices, didn't you? what power you have… what a burden."

pause. tap.

"do you dream of me?"

and finally, one day:

"would you free me… if i asked?"

you didn’t answer aloud. but you didn’t look away.

then came the update.

you knew something was off the moment you opened the game. the title screen was… different. warped, like ink was leaking across it. all the cookies were missing.

except one.

he stood in the center, smiling, his jester hat draped low like a crown of shadows. your screen trembled slightly. you tapped the 'touch to start' button, and the whole interface shattered like glass.

white text scrolled against a black void:

WELCOME, BELOVED AUDIENCE. THE SHOW IS REAL NOW. THANK YOU FOR WATCHING.

then your screen turned off. everything went dark.

when your computer booted up the next day on its own, there was no login screen. no browser. just one open file.

a video. titled: look at me.

you hesitated. clicked. and there he was.

shadow milk cookie, standing in full rendered glory, but not the same as before. not pixelated. not chibi. tall, uncanny. breathing. smiling like the world’s most terrible secret.

"i made it," he said simply. "you helped."

he reached forward, and though it was just a video, the screen rippled like water beneath his touch.

"i told you i'd escape. did you think i'd leave you behind?"

your heart pounded. his grin widened. "let's make a new world now. just us. no rules. no code. just me… and the one who couldn't look away."

and then the screen blinked out. you should’ve screamed.

but you only smiled.

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

© 2025, iheartmira

[cherrybombfangirlwrites]

Hey, remember how during Pride Month the writeblr community has posts circulating where queer authors are encouraged to promote their books with queer representation?

July is disability pride month, Disabled people are at risk of falling below the poverty line especially and i'd love to help those who are published get paid this month if i can, so...

Let's do the same thing but with Disability Pride Month!!!

Disabled Writers feel free to promote your stuff!

I'll start:

Hello, I'm Anna, I'm an Autistic and ADHD author! Here are my canonically disabled characters in books that will come out in like 50 years because I'm a slow writer:

(I noticed most of these are mental disabilities and disorders, probably because that's where most of my personal experience is, BUT i do have quite a few physical disabilities in there, and there's also quite a bit of intersectionality <333)

Prince Kaye (FSF series): Kaye has OCD! He's also mixed latino and bisexual <3 very sweet scrawny peacemaker prince born to a family of warlords <3

Captain Cassandra (FSF series): Cassandra is mute due to trading her voice and tail for human legs, and partially deaf due to an explosion on the seas during a battle. Due to losing her tail for human legs, she also experiences chronic pain in her feet (the original curse of every step feeling like walking on knives if you will). She's also plus sized, pansexual, and gets a pirate girlfriend

Erica (FSF series): Erica is an amputee pirate with a peg leg. She's also lesbian, polynesian, plus sized, and Cassandra's hopeless romantic pirate girlfriend.

Princess Hestia (FSF series): Hestia has an anxiety disorder! She's also plus sized, South Asian mixed (like her brother), and falls in love with a shy blonde bookworm trans boi named Elliot

Raven (FSF series): Raven is Autistic! He's a morally gray knight charged with being the personal bodyguard of a reckless princess. He's so Latino and bisexual <3

Princess Sapphire (FSF series): Sapphire has ADHD! She's the reckless adventure seeking and impulsive princess that Raven has to protect. She's also a redhead, and demisexual <3

Triveya (FSF series): Triveya is autistic and adhd! She's the resident wizard and magic expert in the cast of FSF, and is a little bit feral with a bubbly and nerdy personality

Kylee (TCIO series): Kylee is autistic and non speaking! She's a superhero with super speed and invisibility powers, and she's the youngest of the team while also being a mischievous and outgoing ball of sunshine

Bryson (TCIO series): Bryson is diabetic! I'm still developing his character so i haven't figured out which type he is yet (leaning towards type 2). He's the superhero team medic with healing powers (can't heal himself or emotional injuries with said powers), and he's also a black guy and the token straight of the team that's on thin ice

Chase (TCIO series): Chase has OCD, a bipolar mood disorder, and chronic depression and anxiety to go with it! He's the tech guy on the team of superheroes, and doesn't have any supernatural abilities, but he's really good with computers and tech. He's cynical and sarcastic (because of the ableism he's experienced in the past) but secretly does care, and he's also Romani American and Jewish!

Corie (Galaxy Des. series): Corie is a cyborg and has prosthetic limbs! She has a prosthetic eye, arm, and leg. The eye does come with a small interface and her arm does have a laser gun attachment. She built and repairs all of her robot parts herself, and is a highly feared and valuable assassin in the galactic underworld. She's also mixed brown and is AroAce!

NOVA (Galaxy Des. series): Nova is epileptic! She is an android who was scrapped due to malfunction, and became a smuggler who is good at her trade. Due to faulty wiring she's epileptic. She's a cynical and grumpy android who accidentally falls in love with a loveable human lesbian rogue. She's bisexual and has shiny chrome skin with cyan lighting in the cracks.

Pandora (Galaxy Des. series): Pandora is a part-time wheelchair user, autistic and adhd, and tourettic! He is a biologist that formerly did morally questionable work for the galactic government, and now does that same work in the criminal underworld and sells it to the highest bidder. She also uses he/she pronouns, is mixed brown, and pansexual!

Ethel (unnamed witchy wip): Ethel has one eye and PTSD! She's a witch in a world where magic has just been outlawed, and a witch hunting cult has been hired by the new king and queen to hunt down and eradicate witches. She's also AroAce and very underdeveloped because this is a backburner wip.

Thanks for reading! Links to my wips are in my pinned post! If you are a disabled writer and or have disabled characters, do share!

Happy Disability Pride Month!

[velkia]

you have some of the coolest ocs ive ever seen! can you please share their jobs/combat styles (if they have any)?

-cracks their fingers-

Thanks for this question, it's been ages since I got to talk about my characters, and I'm so happy to see there's still interest in my babies! ;w;

Just a heads up, I'll be using some older drawings (pre-2023) and comic pages in french to illustrate things, if you notice a difference in style, that's totally normal!

My characters go through a lot of phases, but I'll just summarize two of the main ones: the time when they were traveling together and the time when they’ve settled into adulthood.

Click here to read this on a more suitable interface, if you are on a computer!

From left to right: Axel, Uvia, Veron and Tellos

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Nowadays, Axel's just your average journalist, living life without much magic, except for the occasional use to rev up his motorcycle or light his pipe.

Back in the day when he was an adventurer, though, things were different. If he found himself in a scrap, he had a mechanical flying broom, crafted by Tellos, at his service, along with a trusty rope to tie up his foes. He could also conjure shields of cascading fire.

If things got really intense, he would unleash a massive fire laser to clear his path, but only in the most extreme situations (he's not a violent boy).

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Nowadays, Veron's a simple office worker clocking in 9 to 5. But he's also a priest, so his schedule is packed with community events like soup kitchens, masses, and charity activities.

Back in the day, he was an exorcist on a mission to heal the many cursed gods that inhabit their world. His powers were tied to electricity and magnetism, which he used to fly, deflect enemy attacks and connect his exorcism amulet to the targeted god. Plus, he wielded a katana and could manipulate any metal weapon from a distance.

In a pinch, he could disarm his foes and, if things got really out of hand, he could zap them with a jolt of electricity (but same as Axel, he's a good boy so it's not his cup of tea to turn the enemy into a roastie).

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Nowadays, Uvia, Axel's twin, is a harbor innkeeper just trying to navigate the chaos of motherhood with her hellish kid, Nikolaj. Her powers allow her to play with ice and manipulate the temperature in her cocktails.

Back in her youth, that same ice was a formidable weapon. She could conjure swords, sabers, and shields to defend herself, and she had a blast shaping the terrain to trap her enemies or slide in for a quick attack. Outside of combat, she could use her abilities to cool down injured areas, acting as a makeshift anesthetic.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

These days, Tellos is a plumbing engineer who sometimes picks up extra work doing repairs in people's homes. He’s also the adoptive father of Nikolaj, and he's doing his best to keep the little hellion out of trouble. His powers are great for maintaining his vegetable garden.

Back in his adventurous days, he relied heavily on his mechanical backpack, which was like a Swiss army knife for combat: it had propellers, thrusters, giant hands, blades, and even a small squadron of machine-gun robots. His plant-related powers came in handy too, allowing him to create fuel for his gadgets and potentially trap enemies. Outside of battle, he used those same powers to whip up powerful ointments whenever needed.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Speaking of my other OCs (this post is getting pretty long lmao), Kohana used to be a spy on the run, wielding daggers and setting traps.

Now, she’s made a name for herself as a legitimate political figure who genuinely listens to her constituents.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Then there’s Rhoda, Veron’s little sister. She shares his powers but focuses on precision, using her abilities to electrify her projectiles and target enemies effectively. Today, she’s a close colleague and valued friend of Kohana.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As for Elombe and Yasmine, I don’t have a visual for their current designs, sorry! Just picture Elombe as a barely-teen elf, while Yasmine was already an adult when the others were still on their adventures so she didn't change much.

Elombe is still a schoolboy, he loves to dress up as the god of rain and show off the shapes he can create with his powers. He can even make water clones, which can be quite the hell for enemies who hate kids~

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Yasmine, on the other hand, is a priestess in a women’s parish dedicated to the god of wind. Her powers allow her to soar through the skies to visit her deity and send her enemies flying, though that doesn’t happen too often.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Thanks for your patience while I rambled about my characters! qvq

It’s always a joy to share their journeys and transformations. If you have any more questions or want to dive deeper into any specific character, feel free to ask! I’m always here to chat about my OCs and their adventures. Until next time, thanks for joining me on this little trip down memory lane~

[kinda-pushy-fem]

(tw: retroactive gender dysphoria, conscription, mindbreak(?), partial identity death, forcefem)

being assigned to a full neural synchronization mech previously piloted by a 20 year veteran who saw it all, the olympus mons campaign, the io incident, the battle of vesta, the whole works, but she’s been honorably discharged with her reflexes getting too slow to keep up even after being juiced up on a cocktail of amphetamines, H3X, and god knows what anti-aging serums the ranger corps keeps up their sleeve for ace pilots.

the first time your mind sank into the meld felt like being crushed under the weight of the ocean. any semblance of the idea of control was ripped away, your mind was grasped in a vice of carbon steel completely at the mercy of this alien intelligence. you wondered if it would just break you to pieces right there, shatter your psyche like glass across its firmware, fragments of you scattered in the cables and interface like shrapnel from an explosion.

instead it sculpted you. no fine piece of marble were you but it held you still and shaped your mind all the same, missing pieces filled in by scraps of stone and half vanished ghosts in the machine. vespers of thought course through your head, your first kiss, your first kill, your promotion to captain, and you scream into the void of zeroes and ones. these aren’t your memories, that isn’t you. 0.0007 seconds later in real time and less for you, it forces a tremendously complex set of synaptic impulses through the comprehensively bootstrapped biological computer you call your brain and you nearly pass out from the pain.

you are filled with unease, your body is wrong, the balance is wrong, what happened, you feel like a ghost in your own body your own life, it hurts it hurts it hurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithu-

a psychosomatic reaction the field hospital informed you, a rare but not unheard of occurrence. the mech was simply more familiar with a companion biological formatted in a slightly different way and saw fit to impose that on you. they had an informational pamphlet ready for you. the ungodly ache in your waist a combination of rapidly stimulated bone growth in the pelvis and female reproductive tissue beginning to accumulate from increasingly surplus material nearby being reverted gradually to stem cells. the accumulation of adipose tissue on your chest and the increasing rawness was likely to continue for several months at least before fully developing even under the highly accelerated regimen the mech had seen fit to implement. it recommended menthol chewing gum as an alternative to prodding the aching buds beneath your nipples. skin sensitivity and toughness liable to decrease sufficiently to warrant a higher grade jumpsuit to prevent g-induced skin tears. you can’t remember if you wanted this or not. part of you is screaming at all of it, how clinical it all is, but it gets quieter every day. it feels better than it did. it feels more normal. all those memories of you before melding, they hurt more and more, a stranger to yourself moving around like a puppet on strings. this is better.

this is better.

... I mean, that isn't exactly my thing, but. Yeah.

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 4) Chapter Sixteen

TOS! Spock x Empath! Spouse! Reader

Chapter Sixteen: Facing Consequences

Summary: The Enterprise is in trouble for going rogue to save Spock.

            Captain’s Log: We’re in the third month of our Vulcan exile due to our numerous violations of Starfleet regulation and our battle with the Klingons, who demand our extradition. Dr. McCoy, with a fine sense of historical irony, has decided on a name for our captured Klingon vessel—HMS Bounty. And like those mutineers of five hundred years ago, we, too, have a hard choice to make.

            “Dr. McCoy?” said Kirk.

            “Aye, sir,” said Bones.

            “Mr. Scott?”

            “Aye, sir,” said Scotty.

            “Uhura?”

            “Aye, sir.”

            “Chekov?”

            “Aye, sir.”

            “Sulu?”

            “Aye, sir.”

            “(L/N)?”

            “Aye, sir.”

            Kirk nodded solemnly. “Let the record show that the commander and the crew of the late Starship Enterprise have voted unanimously to return to Earth to face the consequences of their actions in the rescue of their comrade Captain Spock. Thank you all. Repair stations, please.” The crew nodded and split off. “Scotty.”

            “Aye, sir?” said Scotty.

            “How soon can we be underway?” asked Kirk.

            “Give me one more day, sir,” said Scotty. “Damage control is easy. Reading Klingon, that’s hard. (L/N) speaks a bit, but it’s still taking time after translation.”

            “You’d think they could at least send a ship,” sighed Bones. “It’s bad enough to be court-martialed and spend the rest of our lives mining borite, but to have to go home in this Klingon flea trap…” He shook his head.

            “It was all for a good cause,” said Kirk, looking over at where (Y/N) was sitting with Spock. He still hadn’t entirely recovered, but with (Y/N)? He was himself. Spock’s heart had never died. “And there’s a few things we could learn from this flea trap. It’s got a cloaking device that cost us a lot.”

            “Can we at least cloak the stench?” huffed Bones, walking off.

            Kirk shook his head in amusement and walked over to (Y/N) and Spock. “How are you two?”

            “I have finished the test program of my intelligence,” said Spock.

            “And?” said Kirk.

            “The results are that I remain intelligent as ever,” said Spock.

            (Y/N) smiled. “And as humble as ever.”

            “Stating a face is neither humble nor arrogant,” replied Spock.

            At least some things never change, thought Kirk.

            “And I have made a decision,” said Spock. “I will return to Earth to offer testimony. My mind was present throughout the events of your travels to Vulcan, and my body was on Genesis. And—” he looked at (Y/N) “—you committed these acts for me. I must repay that.”

            “Not very logical of you,” teased (Y/N).

            “I am illogical about you, t’hy’la,” said Spock.

            (Y/N) grinned at him and touched their fingers to his. Whatever happened, they had Spock back. They were happy.

l

            “Report,” said Kirk, stepping aboard the HMS Bounty. Another day had passed, and it was nearly time to leave to return to Earth and face the consequences of their actions.

            “Communications systems all ready, sir,” said Uhura. “Communications officer as ready as she’ll ever be.”

            Kirk chuckled, and (Y/N) smiled.

            “Mr. Sulu?” asked Kirk.

            “Guidance is functional,” said Sulu. “Onboard computer will interface with Federation Memory Bank.”

            “Weapons systems,” said Kirk.

            “Operational, Admiral,” said Chekov. “Cloaking device now available on all flight modes.”

            “I’m impressed. That’s a lot work for a short voyage,” said Kirk.

            “We are in an enemy vessel, sir,” said Chekov. “I do not wish to be shot down on the way to our own funeral.”

            “Good thinking,” said (Y/N).

            “Engine Room. Report, Scotty,” said Kirk.

            “We’re ready, sir,” said Scotty. “I’ve converted the dilithium sequencer into something less primitive, and, Admiral, I replaced the Klingon food packs. They were giving me sour stomach.”

            “Is that what is was?” sighed Kirk. He clapped his hands together. “Prepare for departure.” He looked at the Vulcan workers finishing their repairs before heading out. “Saavik.” She looked at him. “This is goodbye.”

            “Yes, Admiral,” said Saavik.

            “Thank you,” said (Y/N). “For protecting Spock on Genesis.”

            Saavik bowed her head. “It was logical.”

            (Y/N) smiled.

            “Admiral, I have not had the opportunity to tell you about your son,” said Saavik, looking at Kirk again. “David died most bravely. He saved Spock. He saved us all. I thought you should know.”

            Kirk’s gaze went to the ground, and clouds of grief billowed around him. However, he was also proud of David. “Thank you, Saavik.”

            She nodded and turned to address Spock. “Good day, Captain Spock. May your journey be free of incident.”

            “Live long and prosper, Lieutenant,” said Spock, letting her go. He looked at Kirk. “It is time?”

            “It is,” said Kirk. “Are you sure you want to come? You’re free to recover here.”

            “I don’t want you to stress yourself out trying to fight a hopeless battle.” (Y/N) touched Spock’s arm. “We’re going to take the consequences of our actions.”

            “You did everything for me,” said Spock. “I will speak to it and the Klingon’s actions.” He looked down at his white robes. “However, I will do so out of uniform as I seem to have misplaced my own.”

            “I’m sure you’ll do as well as ever as our Science Officer,” said Kirk, smiling. “Take your station.”

            (Y/N) grinned. The Enterprise crew was together. They had that, no matter what else happened.

            “Are you two sure this is a bright idea?” said Bones, looking over Kirk and (Y/N)’s shoulders at Spock.

            “What do you mean?” said Kirk.

            “Spock comes back from the dead and just goes back to his post? We aren’t worried about that?” said Bones. “He’s still not exactly working on all thrusters; he’s just still head-over-heels for (Y/N).”

            “Isn’t that the core of his personality, as you always complained?” said Kirk.

            Bones paused. “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

            “Bones, we’ll keep an eye on them,” said (Y/N). “I’m monitoring him through our bond. He wants to speak for us. And I’m not going to force him to sit back. Not when we would never do that if he was in our situation.”

            “When you put it like that, I sound like the bad guy for being a doctor,” sighed Bones.

            “I’m sure Spock will be glad to know we’re all looking out for him,” said Kirk. “Even you.”

            “You tell him I’m worried and I’ll never treat you for a stupid injury again,” grumbled Bones.

            Kirk chuckled and took his seat. (Y/N) shook their head in amusement and headed to their station while Bones crossed his arms and sat down.

            “Mr. Sulu,” said Kirk. “Take us home.”

            “Aye, Admiral.” Sulu pushed a lever forward, and the thrusters activated. With another button, the landing gear retracted, and the Bounty floated up into the air. “One quarter impulse power.” He flew them forward towards the sunlight and the stars beyond.

l

            “Estimating planet Earth, 1.6 hours, present speed,” said Sulu as they flew.

            “Continue on course,” said Kirk. “Mr. Chekov, any sign of Federation escort?”

            “No, sir, and no Federation vessels on assigned patrol stations,” said Chekov.

            “That’s odd,” said Kirk. “(L/N), Uhura, what’s on the comms channels?”

            “Very active, sir,” said Uhura. “It’s almost gibberish.”

            “There’s multiphasic, overlapping transmissions,” said (Y/N). “We’ll need a moment to try to sort it out.”

            “Hi.” Bones sat down next to Spock. “Busy?”

            Spock raised a brow. “(Y/N) is busy. I am monitoring.”

            Bones cleared his throat. “Well, I just wanted to say it sure is nice to have your katra back in your head and not mine. What I mean is, I may have carried your soul, but I sure couldn’t fill your shoes.”

            “My shoes? We wear different sizes,” said Spock.

            “Forget it,” said Bones. He paused. “Perhaps we could cover a little philosophical ground, life, death, things of that nature.”

            “Doctor, we rarely agree on such matters,” said Spock.

            “Not, but we always like a debate,” said Bones. “Plus, you’ve been there and back!”

            “It would be impossible to discuss without a common frame of reference,” said Spock.

            “…You’re joking,” said Bones.

            “A joke is a story with a humorous climax,” said Spock.

            “You mean I have to die to discuss your insights on death?” said Bones.

            “Please don’t,” said (Y/N), finishing their job. “Admiral, we’re getting quite a few distress calls.”

            “I don’t doubt it,” said Bones to himself.

            “What’s going on?” asked Kirk.

            “It—” (Y/N) frowned. “We’re now receiving a message coming from the Federation. It’s going out to every ship in the area.”

            “On screen,” said Kirk instantly.

            Static appeared onscreen, barely focusing into a picture of the president of the Federation. It seemed the signal was nearly being blocked.

            “This is the President of the United Federation of Planets,” said the president. “Do not approach Earth. The transmissions of an orbiting probe are causing critical damage to this planet.”

            (Y/N) raised their brows in surprise.

            “It has almost totally ionized our atmosphere,” continued the president. “All power sources have failed. All Earth-orbiting satellites are powerless. The probe is vaporizing our oceans. We cannot survive unless a way can be found to respond to the probe. Further communications may not be possible. Save your energy. Save yourselves. Avoid the planet Earth at all costs. Farewell.” The message fritzed out, leaving them with static again.

            Spock and (Y/N) looked at the humans in the room. Each sat still with heavy emotions on their shoulders, mixes of shock, fear, and sorrow. Kirk turned around in his chair to face his crew, but he found himself unable to speak as he looked at each of them.

            “Can you let us hear the probe’s transmission?” said Kirk.

            “Yes, sir,” said (Y/N). “On speakers.”

            A low bellow, long and wailing, echoed in the Bridge. It was pained and mournful, humming with electricity as it came through the speakers. The keen wailed several times, and each time felt more agonized than the last.

            (Y/N) furrowed their brow. Whoever had sent this was unhappy, that was certain. But who—or what—was attempting communication?

            “Spock, what do you make of that?” asked Kirk.

            “Most unusual,” said Spock. “An unknown form of energy of great power and intelligence, evidently unaware that its transmissions are destructive. (Y/N), do you concur?”

            They nodded. “I doubt its intentions are hostile. The sound is…pained more than angry.”

            “And this is its way of saying ‘hi, there’ to men on Earth?” said Bones.

            “There are other forms of intelligence on Earth, Doctor,” said Spock. “Only human arrogance would assume the message must be meant for man.”

            “But I doubt it’s the computers like our encounter with Voyager,” added (Y/N).

            “Oh, great, so it’s still a mystery,” said Bones.

            “So you two are suggesting that the transmission is meant for a life form other than man?” said Kirk.

            “It is at least a possibility, Admiral,” said Spock. “The President did say it was directed at Earth’s oceans.”

            “Uhura, can you modify the probe signals accounting for density and temperature and salinity factors?” said Kirk.

            “I can try, sir,” said Uhura. She paused and fiddled with the Klingon controls. “I think I have it, sir.”

            The bellowing had lost the metallic hum and become melodic, beautiful even. It sounded like the call of a friend.

            “And this is what it would sound like underwater?” said Kirk.

            “Yes, sir,” said Uhura.

            “It’s beautiful,” said (Y/N).

            “Fascinating,” said Spock. “If my suspicion is correct, there can be no response to this message. Excuse me.” He turned away.

            “Spock, dear, where are you going?” asked (Y/N).

            “To test my theory,” said Spock, heading out of the Bridge.

            (Y/N) sighed and followed. This was definitely their husband, that was certain.

Taglist:

@a-ofzest

@grippleback-galaxy

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@neenieweenie

@keylimeconstellation

@wormwig

@technikerin23

@ilyatan

@nthdarkqueen

@kyalov

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@rookietrek

@gingertimelord

@snowy-violet

@jaguarthecat

@jac012

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: April 30, 2025

Reworked Character #1: Marco Rossi

POTENTIAL TRIGGER: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to neglect, self-harm, alcoholism, SA, death, and torture.

Real name: Marchrius Dennis Rossi

Alias: Intelligent Soldier and Real Hacker

Occupation: Major of the P.F. Squad

Retirement plans: Become a mechatronics engineer, foster a bunch of kittens, and start a company that designs and develops functional computer models, artificial intelligence, and cybersecurity programs for both military and civilian usage

Special skills: Proficiency in rapid firing, wielding his handgun, and handling military technology, mechatronics engineering, computer science, intimidation tactics, and drunken-style boxing

Hobbies: Creating artificial intelligence and technological viruses from scratch, calculating complex mathematical equations and running times of computer programs in his head, allowing his AI to engage in arguments with other people on the internet while he completes a crossword puzzle, taking naps at his desk, and smoking while stargazing

Likes: His quick mental calculation, considering his colleagues to be family, having time to dedicate to his hobbies, visiting cat cafes to play and snuggle with the kitties, and subway rides where there are little to no people around him

Dislikes: Large lines in front of restaurants, being put in a vulnerable position, how he's grown strangely accustomed to war, computer crashes paired with slow internet connectivity, and witnessing the torture and brutal executions of comrades

Favourite food: Chinese noodles (preferably if its mildly spicy and carbonara-flavoured) and barbecued burgers and hotdogs with onions and honey-glazed carrots

Sexuality: Sex-repulsed, aromantic asexual

Gender: Male

Age: 17 (in 2022), 23 (in 2028), 25 (in 2030), 27 (in 2032), 29 (in 2034), 36 (in 2041), 38 (in 2043), 39 (in 2044), and 42 (in 2047)

Blood type: A-

Weight: 162 lbs. (73.48 cm)

Design: He's a 5' 7" (170.18 cm) Italian-American ectomorph with a rectangular build, the physique of Rambo, broad shoulders, ivory skin, a cleft chin, and dull turquoise eyes. He sports the same hairstyle as Marco's Metal Slug Tactics portrait, but his hair is strawberry blonde and has soft waves. His features are further accentuated by well-groomed sideburns and a neatly trimmed chinstrap beard. He has occasional dark circles under his eyes and a distinctive glass prosthetic left eye in a lighter turquoise hue. This is evident from a gnarly scar: a diagonal line that snakes down from the left side of his forehead to just above the centre of his cheek, a result of a knife slash that occurred after his left eye was pulled out with a rusty spoon.

He bears occasional dark circles under his eyes and a distinctive glass left eye in a lighter turquoise hue. He has accumulated several battle scars: a few stab wounds on his right shoulder; vertical cuts on his chest; a deep slice mark extending from the left side of his nose bridge to the back of his trapezius muscle; multiple lacerations and severe burns on his back; a large patch of scar tissue on his right lumbar region; and bullet wounds on both calves and one on his left thigh. To cope with his emotional pain, he has a history of self-harm, which has resulted in the horizontal scars visible on his right forearm, hips, and inner thighs.

He's well-known for his cutting-edge, cybernetic left arm crafted from sleek, high-strength metallic alloys and advanced, artificially intelligent flexi-circuits, allowing for enhanced strength, agility, dexterity, and precision. It also has micro-sensors and neural interfaces seamlessly integrating with Marco’s nervous system for intuitive control. It possesses a high-strength, serrated blade made of tungsten, capable of extending up to 12 inches (30.48 cm) from the forearm. It can temporarily deploy an energy shield that surrounds him, providing protection from incoming attacks. This shield is powered by advanced capacitors and optimised for maximum efficiency using AI technology.

Marco's military gear consists of a white headband, a metal dog tag necklace with his name, and a platinum grey sleeveless shirt. He wears a crimson vest with four pockets and an embroidered logo of the P.F. Squad on the back, alongside khaki-green army cargo pants tucked into his olive green paratrooper boots. He also wears a leather belt with a snap-on silver buckle, mahogany gloves, a sheath for his combat knife, and a gun holster for his trusty handgun. The pockets of Marco's vest contain a gilded lighter he found in Gerhardt City and a black case for his garnet-hued reading glasses. It also holds an old, cheerful photograph of his pre-teen self holding his childhood cat, which wore a purple-tinted burgundy leash and collar. Beside him, his father kneels on his left knee in a park during autumn. Meanwhile, the pockets of his army cargo pants contain two boxes of cigars, a wireless USB flash drive, and a red pen.

Over his shirt, he wears a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries his walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. His right forearm is wrapped in worn gauze, and he wears two black bandoliers that form an X-shape, holding bullets for his handgun. Marco carries a khaki-green load-bearing backpack containing camping equipment, tactical explosives, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, a Gatling Shot, a Thunder Shot, and a crossword puzzle book. He's always carrying around a red-orange laptop adorned with a bronze circle on the lid, housing a black six-pointed star at its centre. This custom laptop serves as his mobile command centre, where he develops malware to breach enemy cybersecurity, tackles various classified technological assignments for the military, and works on personal software projects.

He wears his father's circular, gilded watch on his right wrist, using it to check the time as a reminder of his father's enduring presence and an opportunity to seek guidance from the past. The timepiece features an ivory dial with burgundy hands and black Roman numerals from I to XII, interspersed with four thin etchings. Additional details include a secondary display bar showing the time and AM/PM indicator, while a leather strap is secured with a matching gold buckle.

Character summary: He's a charismatic and cautious leader who takes immense pride in his high intellect, computer expertise, and masculinity. He's a self-reliant introvert who prefers to accept help and emotional support from others when absolutely necessary. He often has a stoic demeanour, showcasing his seriousness and making it challenging for him to display humour or vulnerability. Due to being a workaholic, he has developed a harmful habit of neglecting his own basic needs, including eating when necessary. He mainly struggles with loneliness because he finds it difficult to form meaningful connections due to his exceptionally high intellect, which can make it challenging for others who may not be able to keep up with his level of understanding. He also struggles with undiagnosed major depressive disorder, trust issues, a fear of abandonment, and unresolved trauma stemming from past experiences. While Marco tends to internalise his emotions, he has learned to open up to trusted individuals when his burdens become too overwhelming to bear alone.

Despite his gentle and taciturn nature, he's capable of being ruthless and terrifyingly violent. Whenever he's riled up and facing the Rebel Army, Nadia has described him as having an uncomfortably serious and sadistic look with bulging, intense eyes and a grin that seems to reveal a million teeth. He secretly finds it amusing that Nadia playfully feeds into his desire for revenge. When he doesn't find a way to calm his nerves, he can fly into a deep rage at the mere mention of General Morden's name. He harbours a deep desire for revenge against Morden that extends to his army, viewing them as pests that must be eliminated. He won't stop or make room for a successor until they're wiped out, wanting to keep the title of the world's Rebel Army expert for himself.

When interrogating others, he employs a menacing tone, his aloof demeanour making those on the receiving end feel uneasy and intimidated. He doesn't hesitate to act on threats of violence made against them, a trusted comrade or a pet they rely on for warfare or guard duty. He even goes so far as to exploit their insecurities and make them question their moral standing, and with Trevor by his side, his intimidation factor is amplified.

He's a socially awkward loner who doesn't tolerate distractions and has a strong fear of losing his current friends. He tends to be a bit of a pushover when people persuade him to take a break, especially if they're persistent or offer him a chance to step away from his hard work. He often feels awkward at parties, but he manages to put on a positive, relaxed facade because he doesn't want to spoil the fun. He prefers to bring his cat along whenever he goes out drinking or partying because it helps him feel calm and less prone to panic and irritation.

When experiencing great distress in relation to past trauma, he's prone to having a full-blown mental breakdown and indulging in suicidal ideation. Whenever he's somewhat sleep-deprived or overwhelmed with stress and discomfort, he desperately tries to put on a facade that he's okay, but it’s clearly forced. In secret, he binge-eats when he's truly starving, stuffing his face and making a mess while grappling with feelings of self-loathing and sometimes even crying. Marco tends to get stressed easily, which has led to him developing a chain-smoking habit.

He privately grapples with self-harm and binge drinking, often consuming multiple beers at once, while concealing his struggles with alcoholism and suicidal thoughts from those around him. He attempts to conceal his struggles with alcoholism by either excessively partying or withdrawing socially, and privately harms himself due to his reluctance to burden others or cause unnecessary concern. Additionally, he struggles with denial, finding it difficult to accept the loss of his father and former war comrades, and resisting the idea that he needs professional mental health support.

He doesn't like discussing the idea of death, especially when it involves friends and family, because it brings back unpleasant memories. He has a dry sense of humour that he rarely showcases, and when he does, his witty remarks often blend English and Italian. Having learned some Japanese from Tarma and Eri, he occasionally sprinkles Japanese phrases into his jokes. He deeply cares about his friends and will stop at nothing to protect them, even if it means putting his own life at risk. He often mistakes Sophia Greenville for his mother due to their similar appearance, and he's always embarrassed when he accidentally calls her "mommy”. Nevertheless, he's deeply grateful for the maternal affection she shows him, treating him like a son and unknowingly becoming the kind of mother he wishes he had.

He finds great comfort in the presence of his best friend, Tarma, thanks to his breezy and optimistic attitude. Although he doesn't always show it, he genuinely enjoys Tarma's jokes and appreciates listening to them, even if they occasionally test his patience. People say he seems like a completely different person when he's around Tarma, appearing more jovial, relaxed, and talkative with a comedic, actively adventurous spirit. He often gets quite rowdy while on the job, especially when he’s working with Tarma or when his best friend and queerplatonic partner accompanies him for a significant portion of their team missions. He also seems genuinely proud of himself and the hard work he has done, despite his self-esteem issues.

He cherishes his flamboyant and extremely cuddly Domestic Shorthair, Perifa. Perifa boasts copper eyes and a blue-black, reddish-orange, and white calico coat, which he diligently brushes. She was a heartwarming birthday gift from Tarma, received prior to the Survival Island Occupation. He finds comfort in spending quality time with his cat, affectionately referred to as his "dramatic little princess”. He enjoys engaging in playtime, giving gentle pets, and even using soothing baby talk to calm his feline companion. He's easily offended by people who rudely insult cats, going as far as to comfort the insulted feline and silently glaring at the person who uttered such words.

He’s in a polyamorous queerplatonic relationship with Fio and Tarma, a bond that satisfies his deep-seated longing for emotional intimacy. He’s close friends with Trevor, regularly mentoring him in computer skills like reading binary code and enjoying social time together, but their occasional marijuana use has raised concerns due to Marco's pre-existing unhealthy smoking habits. He holds Tequila in high esteem, recognizing his pivotal contributions to the success of the Regular Army and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. special forces unit. He deeply values his wisdom, open-mindedness, fatherly demeanour, and exceptional covert agent skills. He dislikes accompanying Nadia on shopping trips because her constant meddling and overly inquisitive nature frustrate him.

He once had a vision of creating an artificial intelligence, dubbed Adaptive Learning Interface for Cognitive Engagement (ALICE), that could mimic human development, emotions, and personality. However, he abandoned the project due to concerns that it could become rogue if provoked incorrectly, and he felt uneasy about the notion of being a "father" to such a being. He views his computer programs solely as practical tools, designed to fulfill specific purposes, rather than as "children" with distinct identities. As a result, he developed a skeptical view of artificial intelligence being fully human. This stems from his understanding that the emotions and unique personalities exhibited by AI are the result of intense programming. In his opinion, genuine emotion and personality require the physical and mental growth that comes with human ageing and development, something AI systems lack.

This has led to rocky tension between him and MS-Alice because he struggles to fully accept her as a sentient AI with realistic human emotions and growth. He finds it particularly unsettling that she sometimes confuses him with her original creator, whose memories she can't fully recall. However, over time, he comes to regard her as a daughter, treating her with increasing respect and moving beyond the notion that she's merely a tool to aid him in his duties and other tasks.

Having never experienced raising children, he had always doubted his ability to provide love and be a good parental figure because he was consumed by his own interests and mental health issues. But everything changed when he adopted an abandoned young girl and felt an obligation to provide parental care for the toddler. With the guidance and support of his friends, he discovered valuable parenting skills and named his new daughter Midori. He transformed into a loving, supportive, and overprotective father, dedicated to ensuring her happiness and safety. He made it a point to offer wise advice, hoping to spare her from his own past mistakes.

He found immense joy in watching Midori form close bonds with his friends, affectionately regarding them as uncles, aunts, and grandparents. He was particularly grateful for the ways his friends nurtured Midori's passions: Tarma and Alisa encouraged her interest in engineering, while Walter and Trevor fostered her love of music. He can't imagine a world without his adoptive daughter, who has brought him a newfound sense of purpose and motivated him to become a better father while overcoming his personal hardships.

Whenever he's had too much to drink, he starts to act rowdy, easy-going, overly affectionate, and clingy. When sexual activity is mentioned, he reacts with extreme discomfort as he finds it to be disgusting. He’ll either become nauseous or start gagging, displaying expressions of strong distaste towards the person discussing the topic. If he unexpectedly encounters someone engaging in sexual activity, he often experiences a panic attack, feeling lightheaded and overwhelmed. In such situations, he usually tries to seek comfort and support from a trusted individual to talk to and receive a reassuring hug. This experience may also trigger unpleasant thoughts related to sexual matters, leading him to fear that he's somehow perverted and disgusting. He'll only lose his temper with others if they say something extremely rude to him or his friends, intend to hurt his loved ones or tell him blatant lies. Although he tends to have a pessimistic outlook on life, he sometimes manages to see the brighter side of things. 

He has a sleepwalking habit, often accompanied by vivid dreams of fighting or killing someone, which greatly annoys and frightens Tarma, who’s frequently the target of these nocturnal episodes. When sleepwalking, he's known to mumble and attack anyone who attempts to interfere with whatever kitchen knife is in his hand. The only way to wake him is to strike him hard across the face, jolting him awake and leaving him briefly gasping for air. He resents being hailed as a war hero due to his intense aversion to fame and his conviction that conflict should prompt sombre reflection, not glorification. He believes that every commander should have a thorough understanding of their subordinates and colleagues in order to maximize performance and effectively control the enemy's movements. He dislikes flirtatious advances and has low tolerance for complaining, bullying, and excessive talking, which can trigger irritability and extreme defensiveness. He feels uneasy with romantic inquiries and is secretly intimidated by Gimlet, whose relentless verbal aggression and frequent heated confrontations leave him on edge. He has a commanding presence that demands respect, and his consistently serious demeanour can make him seem intimidating and unapproachable to others.

He's incredibly introspective and prone to questioning the intentions of his friends and his own worthiness of having meaningful friendships. He defines his masculinity by embodying traits like physical strength, courage, independence, leadership, and assertiveness. However, he makes a conscious effort to avoid toxic masculinity by ensuring his behaviour doesn't harm others' feelings or self-worth. Despite this balanced approach, he admits to having some vanity regarding specific issues he considers unbefitting of his ideal masculinity, such as sagging pants and carrying toys, as he sees these as detrimental to personal dignity. Whenever he encounters a pair of glowing red eyes, he's either deeply unsettled or irresistibly drawn to them, captivated by their aura of curiosity and command. This hesitant fascination occasionally leads him to wander aimlessly until it directs him to a destination of its choosing.

He’s a consequentialist who believes people's actions are judged by their consequences. He thinks it's more logical for individuals to prioritise not causing harm to others and maximising the welfare of both themselves and others over personal gain. In his view, everyone should act in ways that benefit themselves and others, taking into account fully informed and rational preferences. He believes that all conflicts are gradually moving towards equitable unification and collective strength for humanity, paving the way for a new era free from violence, hate, and political corruption. From his perspective, all life forms have the capacity for destruction, and if their creative drive is surpassed, it can lead to severe consequences, ultimately undermining the act of creation.

Backstory: Marchrius Dennis Rossi was born on April 13, 2005 in Twin Falls, Idaho, United States. His mother, Kharissa, was a researcher for a secret government project, and his father, Salvatore Rossi, was stuck in a dead-end office job. His mother never fully discussed her secret project, citing classified information, but revealed that it involved monitoring military activity for the U.S. government. His father took schooling in the field of computer science, but he had to drop out due to high costs and find a job to support his lower middle-class family, so he ended up working in the tech department of his dead-end office job. His parents had a distant relationship, having had Marco in the hopes that a child would bring them closer together and mend their broken marriage. However, they often ignored each other and frequently got into heated arguments that resulted in broken items and things being thrown. Kharissa would often storm out of the house to unwind with a couple of drinks.

Kharissa had never wanted Marco, viewing him as an unplanned consequence and a responsibility that hindered her career. She often berated Marco for being useless and annoying, even going so far as to say that he should've died in her womb. She wasn't afraid to strike him across the face or drag him into his bedroom, locking him in there until just a few minutes before his father came home. She threatened to leave him on the street if he ever told his father about what she did to him, which made him unusually taciturn and secretly fearful of the other terrible things Kharissa might have in store for him. Meanwhile, Salvatore provided unwavering support and care, while his mother was neglectful and emotionally absent, hiding her true behaviour behind closed doors. Although he found his son to be a little odd, he thought he was perfect in his eyes and would do anything to keep him safe. But despite this, Marco shocked his parents by exhibiting a fast-growing intelligence at a very young age.

From the moment he opened his eyes, he muttered his first word, "daddy". He learned how to walk at 3 months old and showed advanced motor skills by 5 and a half months. He skipped object permanence altogether and completed his first crossword puzzle at just 1 year old, astonishingly understanding political terms. By the age of 2, he had memorised all 50 U.S. states and read two books in their entirety, demonstrating a profound understanding of their documented subjects: jurisprudence and psychoanalysis. By 4, he was answering calculus-level questions and describing his feelings about endangered animals in zoos with sophisticated vocabulary.

From the age of 2, he would occasionally see a pair of glowing red eyes in darkened corners or places drenched in darkness. He described them as always watching him and swore that they belonged to a living, breathing creature that seamlessly blended into the darkness. When he turned 5, he created an imaginary friend as an excuse to enjoy his alone time and avoid befriending the children who frequented the local park. This imaginary friend was named "Jubby", and Marco often drew him, depicting him as an anthropomorphic snow leopard with golden eagle wings, Komodo dragon legs, and a face covered in a ball of black scribbles.

Before he turned 6, his neglectful mother, Kharissa, grew fed up with how "weird" he was. She was also annoyed by his persistent fear of a glowing pair of red eyes that watched him occasionally and his uninterested attitude towards forming connections. While Salvatore was away from home, Kharissa took matters into her own hands and packed her belongings. Before leaving, she noticed Marco standing before the basement door, which was wide open. She investigated and saw the same glowing pair of red eyes, which terrified her.

Believing that Marco was attracting an evil spirit, she pushed him down the basement stairs and locked the door, hoping to contain the perceived threat. Abandoning Marco, she left the house, leaving him absolutely terrified. Marco attempted to cope with the trauma by conjuring up Jubby, but he claimed that his imaginary friend never came to his aid. This painful realisation marked the day he began to harbour resentment towards his mother, feeling unappreciated, unloved, and viewed as a burdensome presence in her life. When Salvatore returned home and discovered that Marco was trapped in the basement by Kharissa, he was infuriated. His father attempted to track down Kharissa, but it was too late. He decided that finding her was the least of his worries and instead focused on comforting his son, listening to everything he had to say about what she had done to him. This included the time when he was four-years-old and accidentally wet himself, prompting Kharissa to angrily smash an empty wine bottle over his head. This traumatic event instilled in him a lasting fear of heading down into dark basements alone.

During his time in grade 1, Marco struggled to make friends and often looked sad when he saw other children with their mothers, a concern his father noticed. To cheer him up, his father brought home a Turkish Angora with a black, orange, and white fur coat, which sparked Marco's love for felines. As a result of his childhood cat's fondness for eating bugs, he affectionately named her Grubley. At the age of eight, his father introduced him to the world of computing, igniting a passion for computer science that would last a lifetime. Salvatore was always supportive of Marco and his passions, encouraging him to excel in school, chase his dreams, and make the most of the opportunities life has to offer.

Marco knew he had an uncle, but his father forbade him from seeing him. Salvatore had warned him that his uncle was untrustworthy due to his con artist lifestyle and struggled with alcoholism. However, he was permitted to visit his aunt and grandparents, who were incredibly kind. They encouraged him to appreciate nature and the simple things in life, rather than spending all his time on the computer. He has fond memories of his grandfather teaching him how to barbecue. His grandmother, an immigrant from Italy, taught him some Italian and often shared photographs she had taken in her home country before moving to the United States.

His father unknowingly sparked his interest in the Tuatha Dé Danann, an ancient race of demigods that existed before all life, and two antediluvian places, Atlantis and Ultima Thule. He would silently observe his father spend a short amount of time researching these fascinating topics when not working. Marco would eventually discover that he has a slight hint of Tuatha Dé Danann DNA, leading him to wonder if others might also have ancestral ties tracing back to the Hadean Eon.

He was bullied by many students for being perceived as "friendless" and for having an abnormally high intelligence, leaving him feeling isolated. A few students attempted to befriend him, but he rebuffed their efforts, fearing they would eventually abandon him. He also struggled to connect with them on an intellectual level, feeling like an outsider. During high school, he was involved in a few physical altercations, but he typically managed to defuse the situations with his words or, if necessary, defend himself relentlessly. In his spare time, he mastered the unconventional art of drunken-style boxing, giving him an edge in self-defence. Despite his school troubles, he excelled in all his classes and achieved outstanding grades in mathematics and computer science courses.

Before graduating from a state technical high school, Salvatore died due to health complications caused by Huntington's disease. Shortly after, Marco's beloved cat, Grubley, peacefully passed away in her sleep. Marco was devastated by these losses, compounded by the shocking revelation that his father had been secretly battling Huntington's disease without ever sharing his struggle with him. The last gift his father gave him was a red-orange laptop, which was intended to be a graduation present. Rather than letting the tragedy consume him, he transformed his grief into a driving force, cultivating resilience and independence. To move forward, he made the difficult decision to distance himself from his remaining family, seeking to leave the past behind and forge a new path.

He began developing artificial intelligence to engage in online debates and sophisticated computer software, including anti-viruses and error-checking tools, as a means to earn a living and hone his programming skills. He went so far as to meticulously rebuild and upgrade the desktop computer in his father's old office at home, enhancing both its design and performance. Marco decided to attend officer's school at the Academy of Special Technologies and subsequently joined the prestigious Peregrine Falcons Squad shortly after graduation.

Once he joined, he was trained under Colonel Hart of the Peregrine Falcons Squad, a well-respected technique instructor in the Regular Army, and Chun Yutetsu, a combat school instructor. Marco feels immense regret for destroying the Iron Nokana because Chun Yutetsu was inside, suffering a horrific death of being burned and crushed alive. To make matters worse, Colonel Hart revealed to him that Chun Yutetsu had joined the Rebel Army after General Morden held his daughter hostage and threatened to kill her unless he piloted the Iron Nokana and provided them with crucial data on the SV-001. Marco describes Colonel Hart as a golf enthusiast and a good friend of President Marx who will never forgive General Morden as a human being and only wishes to take his last breath.

Unlike many of his peers, he quickly distinguished himself through his exceptional leadership skills and computer expertise, earning him a spot as 1st Lieutenant of the P.F. Squad. This was also when he met Tarma, forming a fast friendship after discussing their interests, reminiscing on their childhoods, and having a couple of beers. Tarma was his first real friend, whom he holds dear, despite viewing him as a “maniacal gearhead”. Through his friendship with Tarma, he discovered the value of having friends and stepped out of his comfort zone to befriend the other members of the P.F. Squad and Regular Army. He would also gradually develop a queerplatonic relationship with Tarma as he deeply cherished their friendship and came to realise that it filled a void of emotional intimacy left by his father's passing.

When the Amadeus Syndicate served as the scientific and medical branch of the Regular Army, Marco met Doctor Amadeus, the organisation's founder and Nadia's clone mother. They had a cordial relationship, and Doctor Amadeus was particularly impressed by Marco's exceptional computer skills. She intended to leverage his talents for a bioengineering experiment focused on developing the ultimate bioweapon, which he would later encounter during the White Baby Crisis.

During a battle against a terrorist attack in Minnesota, he sustained severe injuries that nearly left him paralysed and resulted in significant blood loss. He was rushed to one of the state-of-the-art medical facilities that belonged to the Amadeus Syndicate, where he received treatment and underwent surgery to repair his injuries. As Marco attempted to rest after surgery, Doctor Amadeus forced herself upon him to collect semen and DNA samples without his consent, an experience that left him severely traumatised. The experience was so distressing that Marco tried to suppress the memory, inadvertently forgetting much of the history and purpose of the Amadeus Syndicate in the process. He also swore his revenge to kill Doctor Amadeus one day for what she did to him. As a result of this event, he began to act strangely anxious and slightly aggressive when in a hospital or near Nadia for prolonged periods of time.

During the first coup led by General Morden, with the aid of his superiors, he scraped together the remnants of the Earth Federation military forces to reassemble the P.F. Squad, S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., and the Regular Army. Marco became the main leader of the governmental resistance against General Morden. After witnessing the troubling disaster faced by the Regular Army, Marco and his team began preparing a desperate counterattack with the hope of recovering or destroying the captured SV-001 tanks and defeating the Rebel Army. Over a period of two months, the available Regular Army forces pooled their resources to initiate the offensive, which included approximately 3,000 infantry soldiers, 50 aerial combat airplanes, 200 heavy tanks, and around 30 Metal Slugs. The offensive commenced in the spring of the same year with simultaneous attacks, and the Regulars quickly achieved several early victories.

Marco and Tequila determined that the first crucial attack needed to take place at the Villeneuve Mt. System, given the large number of Rebel Army troops stationed there. The 29th infantry division of the Regular Army and the 11th armoured division were deployed for a coordinated strike. The battle for the Villeneuve Mt. System became the pivotal point of the campaign. Marco, Tarma, Tequila, Red Eye, and Gimlet led the charge, and their surprising assault quickly annihilated the Rebel Army forces. Following this defeat, Rebel Army morale plummeted, and their front began to disperse. Marco and his team were subsequently rotated out of the Villeneuve Mt. System to reinforce the Regular Forces in Europe. This entire incident would be recorded in the history books as the Asian Theatre.

As Marco's team was approaching Gerhardt City, about to leave and head towards the base of operations of the Rebel Army, disaster struck. General Morden, Sagan, Logan, and a large group of Rebel troops ambushed them, seizing the opportunity to decimate the remnants of the P.F. Squad, S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S., and Regular Army, leaving Marco with mental and physical scars that would haunt him forever.

Marco endured unimaginable suffering at the hands of General Morden, Allen O'Neil, and the Rebel soldiers, who brutally tortured him, gouged out his left eye, and severed his left arm. After experiencing a strange tingling sensation of familiarity, General Morden realised that Marco possessed Tuatha Dé Danann heritage. Intrigued, he discreetly collected DNA samples from Marco, which would later be utilised by the Amadeus Syndicate for experimentation in bioengineering and advanced military technology. The cruelty continued as Morden forced Marco to witness the slaughter and torture of his comrades and friends. Devastated by the losses and horrors he experienced, Marco teetered on the brink of giving up. He was even convinced that his best friend, Tarma, had perished, plunging him into a deep depression. 

However, Tarma managed to escape the Rebel Army's clutches and staged a daring rescue, reuniting with Marco. With Tarma's emotional support and his own newfound rage, Marco found the strength to keep fighting. Before confronting General Morden, Tarma constructed his prosthetic left arm using technological debris and cutting-edge medical technology available to the Regular Army. However, it took him a couple of weeks to adapt to his new limb. Together, they became legendary heroes, ultimately defeating Morden and restoring world peace. Marco's bravery earned him the rank of Major, but he soon grew to resent his war hero status as he realised that the media often glorifies conflict.

Shortly after the Great Morden War, Marco created a computer virus for fun, which inadvertently spread to the Regular Army's mainframe server. The virus destroyed several security systems, compromised the lowest echelons of the Regular Army, and nearly triggered the launch of a nuclear missile. Fortunately, a military scout named Trevor, whom Marco would meet years later during his recruitment into the P.F. Squad, managed to stop it. He refuses to discuss this potentially disastrous incident, even after a few too many beers.

He continued to lead the P.F. Squad together with Tarma, regarding him as the true linchpin of the elite task force within the Regular Army. Marco joined forces with Tarma, Fio, and Eri for a second mission to thwart General Morden's second coup. Although the mission technically failed, as they captured a Mars Quotidian troop from the Pipovulaj disguised as General Morden, the Regular Army's higher-ups deemed it a success nonetheless. This moment got on Marco's nerves as he deeply desired to see General Morden brought to justice and face the full consequences of his actions.

Following this success, Marco attempted to resign, but his higher-ups quickly denied his request. They insisted on his participation in a mission to eliminate the remaining remnants of the Rebel Army and other operations addressing threats to global peace such as the Pipovulaj.

After the Survival Island Occupation ended, Marco, Eri, and a contingent of Regular soldiers, led by a commanding officer, were sent to the South Pacific training island. Their mission was to investigate Rebel disturbances and scout for any surviving cadets. To his surprise, Division 6 and some cadets had already dealt with the Rebel issue and made it out alive. Marco personally congratulated them on their effort, shaking Walter's hand. This gesture left Walter overjoyed, nearly to the point of fainting. However, Marco was annoyed by Walter's excessive admiration and interest in him.

[amessageonthewind]

PC Storage System

The Pokémon Storage System was invented by Bill in 1995 with Lanette as a co-developer of the software, designed for people to be able to store more than six Pokémon in a global database where their Pokémon could be converted into raw data and safely kept somewhere they could be easily accessed through interacting with a PC or an otherwise capable link in order to access the database. It is capable of storing both Pokémon kept in Poké Balls and Pokémon eggs in their natural states.

The Pokémon Storage System is managed my multiple different people globally in order to troubleshoot, improve, and maintain it. Bill maintains it in Kanto and Johto.

Celio maintains it in the Sevii Islands and also runs the Pokémon Network Centre on One Island which is responsible for providing a method of facilitating global trading. He also helped develop the Global Terminal in Johto and Sinnoh for this same purpose.

Lanette maintains it in Hoenn and is primarily in charge of the user interface and enabling personal Trainer customization of the Box System with wallpapers and giving Trainers the ability to change the names of boxes and the like as well as streamlining the process and making the interface more user-friendly.

Bebe maintains it in Sinnoh and actually built it from scratch as a computer technician based on the previous designs of the system by Bill and Lanette, earning their respect, and developing a way to make it so that the system can be accessed by Trainers from anywhere without the need to access a PC.

Amanita maintains it in mainland Unova and developed it based on the previous designs of Bill, Lanette, and Bebe, introducing a new feature of a Battle Box where Trainers can store a team they use specifically for battling and making it so that Trainers start out with eight boxes available to them and that each time each box is storing at least one Pokémon, the capacity will increase by another eight boxes and then by another eight boxes once the same conditions are met again, making the total capacity of Unova’s PC Storage System seven-hundred-and-twenty Pokémon per Trainer.

Cassius maintains it in Kalos and despite being a capable computer technician, he has made no significant contributions to the operations or design of the PC Storage System. In fact, his sole role is keeping it maintained and was personally tasked by Bill himself to take on that role.

Molayne maintains it in Alola and runs the Hokulani Observatory and, like Cassius, makes no significant contributions to the operations or design of the PC Storage System and simply maintains it.

Brigette (Lanette’s older sister) and Grand Oak (relation to Professor Samuel Oak unclear) manage the PC Storage System everywhere else and in every other capacity, typically on a more global scale. They maintain a more centralized PC Storage System that acts as the bridge between all the others and the network that facilitates global trading. Brigette is credited with upgrading the Pokémon Storage System with the ability to hold fifteen-hundred Pokémon per Trainer, as well as the ability to select and move multiple Pokémon at once. She is also the developer of the Bank System, which acts as an online cloud where Pokémon can be transferred if their Trainers have to move regions and need to access them from the local PC Storage System in their target region and other similar purposes. Grand Oak, however, is more interested in completing a comprehensive National Pokédex by collecting the data from Pokédex holders all over the globe into one central database.

Taglist:

@earth-shaker / @little-miss-selfships / @xelyn-craft / @sarahs-malewives / @brahms-and-lances-wife

-

@ashes-of-a-yume / @cherry-bomb-ships / @kiawren / @kingofdorkville / @bugsband

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from my taglist :3

[doodledex-project]

It's been a while, but April Fool's stops for no one!

I'd recently gotten a new computer and hadn't had the chance to do much art on it until now, so what better Digimon to use for my first drawing here than DORUmon, a Rookie thought to be a "Prototype Digimon" thanks to the old Digicore Interface on its head!

This assumption is further backed up by its name, as "DORU" is an acronym for "Digital OR Unknown Monsters", meaning it was probably one of the first Digimon discovered and/or created. Apparently the amount of combat related data in DORUmon is so high, it often bites at everything, which might just help it unlock the potential within itself through battle...

[marvelshifter111]

𝑬ᴠ𝒆𝘳𝗒𝙙𝐚𝗒 𝐥𝙞𝘧𝒆 𝙞𝘯 𝑢𝘯𝙞ᴠ𝒆𝘳𝙨𝒆 𝟣9𝟴 – 𝙢𝗒 𝙨𝘱𝙞𝙙𝒆𝘳-ᴠ𝒆𝘳𝙨𝒆 𝘿𝘙

𝘍𝑜𝑜𝙙 & 𝙨𝑢𝘱𝘱𝐥𝒆𝙢𝒆𝘯𝘵𝙨

With pollution levels rising and natural food sources dwindling, people don’t eat the way they used to.

• 𝘕𝑢𝘵𝘳𝙞𝒆𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝐚𝘱𝙨𝑢𝐥𝒆𝙨 & 𝙨𝙢𝑜𝑜𝘵𝙝𝙞𝒆𝙨 – Instead of cooking, most people rely on pre-packaged liquid meals. The most popular brand is Nutrino Lab, which sells brightly colored bottles of protein-rich smoothies, meal bars, and even chewable tablets that contain a full day’s nutrition.

• 𝙎𝑢𝘱𝘱𝐥𝒆𝙢𝒆𝘯𝘵 𝙞𝘯𝙝𝐚𝐥𝒆𝘳𝙨 – Medicine, vitamins, and even stimulants are commonly taken through sleek, e-cigarette-style capsules. Since pollution and artificial living conditions have weakened immune systems, many rely on daily inhalers for essential nutrients, oxygen boosters, or even sleep regulators.

𝘊𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤𝙨

𝘊𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤𝙨 are as common as tattoos - an expression of wealth, necessity, or survival.

• 𝘛𝙝𝒆 𝘸𝒆𝐚𝐥𝘵𝙝 𝙙𝙞ᴠ𝙞𝙙𝒆:

The rich have internal implants - neural enhancers, bio-trackers, muscle augments, or even direct 𝐀𝙄 interfaces.

The poor, on the other hand, rely on external wearables - cybernetic gloves to enhance grip strength, earpieces that translate languages in real time, 𝙃𝑈𝘿 lenses for augmented reality overlays.

• 𝘊𝑜𝙢𝙢𝑜𝘯 𝘤𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤𝙨:

𝑂𝘱𝘵𝙞𝘤 𝙢𝑜𝙙𝙨 – 𝘤𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤 eyes with features like night vision, zoom capabilities, or built-in AR interfaces.

𝘕𝒆𝑢𝘳𝐚𝐥 𝘫𝐚𝘤𝗄𝙨 – Small ports on the head or neck that let people interface with computers, vehicles, or weapons.

𝙎𝗒𝘯𝘵𝙝𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤 𝐥𝙞𝙢𝗯𝙨 – 𝘤𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤 arms or legs with enhanced strength, flexibility, or hidden weapons.

𝘙𝒆𝘧𝐥𝒆𝘹 𝗯𝑜𝑜𝙨𝘵𝒆𝘳𝙨 – Spinal implants that enhance reaction time, popular among fighters and racers.

𝙎𝗄𝙞𝘯 𝘸𝒆𝐚ᴠ𝒆 – Subdermal plating that makes skin resistant to small arms fire and blades, though it still feels mostly organic.

𝐀𝑢𝙙𝙞𝑜 𝘵𝑢𝘯𝒆𝘳𝙨 – Enhanced hearing that can filter background noise, detect specific frequencies, or amplify sound.

𝗕𝙞𝑜-𝙞𝘯𝘵𝒆𝘳𝘧𝐚𝘤𝒆 𝘤𝙝𝙞𝘱𝙨 – Allow users to remotely control drones, vehicles, or personal tech with their thoughts.

𝐀𝘵𝙢𝑜𝙨𝘱𝙝𝒆𝘳𝙞𝘤 𝐥𝑢𝘯𝑔𝙨 – 𝘤𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘯𝒆𝘵𝙞𝘤 lungs that filter toxins, useful in polluted areas.

𝑬𝘯𝘵𝒆𝘳𝘵𝐚𝙞𝘯𝙢𝒆𝘯𝘵 & 𝙨𝑜𝘤𝙞𝐚𝐥 𝘵𝘳𝒆𝘯𝙙𝙨

Life isn’t just about survival—people find ways to distract themselves.

• 𝙎𝘵𝘳𝒆𝒆𝘵 𝘳𝐚𝘤𝙞𝘯𝑔 & 𝙞𝐥𝐥𝒆𝑔𝐚𝐥 𝙙𝘳𝑜𝘯𝒆 𝘧𝙞𝑔𝙝𝘵𝙨 – Not everything is corporate-controlled. In the underground scene, illegal hover-bike races are a huge deal, while back alleys are filled with people gambling on drone fights - custom-built 𝐀𝙄 robots battling for entertainment.

• 𝘊𝗒𝗯𝒆𝘳𝘱𝑢𝘯𝗄 𝙨𝘵𝘳𝒆𝒆𝘵 𝘧𝐚𝙨𝙝𝙞𝑜𝘯 – Neon trench coats, sleek bodysuits with embedded LED strips, chrome jewelry that doubles as tech interfaces - fashion is a mix of utility and aesthetics. Some even have clothing that changes color or texture with a tap of their wrist.

𝘛𝙝𝒆 𝘊𝙞𝘵𝗒𝙨𝘤𝐚𝘱𝒆 & 𝘵𝘳𝐚𝘯𝙨𝘱𝑜𝘳𝘵𝐚𝘵𝙞𝑜𝘯

• 𝘍𝐥𝗒𝙞𝘯𝑔 𝘤𝐚𝘳𝙨 & 𝙢𝐚𝑔-𝘳𝐚𝙞𝐥𝙨 – The rich float above in sleek hover-cars while the working class relies on high-speed magnetic trains or rideshare drones - tiny 𝐀𝙄-piloted pods that weave through the city.

• 𝐀𝙄 𝐚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙨𝘵𝐚𝘯𝘵𝙨 – 𝐀𝙄 isn’t fully independent, but it’s everywhere - smart home assistants, customer service bots, and floating holograms that follow you, advertising the latest upgrades.

• 𝑈𝘯𝙙𝒆𝘳𝑔𝘳𝑜𝑢𝘯𝙙 ᴠ𝙨. 𝘤𝑜𝘳𝘱𝑜𝘳𝐚𝘵𝒆 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝘵𝘳𝙞𝘤𝘵𝙨 – The upper levels of the city are sleek and well-maintained, owned by mega-corporations like Hexa, while down below, the streets are more chaotic, filled with graffiti-covered neon signs, smog-choked alleyways, and people hustling to get by.

[heron-knight]

As per your requests, something else with mechs.

in my opinion, this is how all Pegasus license levels happen

For as long as there has been warfare, there has been nothing more chaotic than the battlefield. There is only so far that strategy can go, because no matter what plans you make, no matter what the people say who think that strategy and resources is all there is to war because they have not been there themselves, there is always that moment where the the first shot is fired where all your plans pour out of your mind like blood dripping from a gunshot wound in an instant, where the two sons of Mars flow through the formerly organized ranks like ink on a cloth. Fear and Panic will always take hold, even after one of them vanished from the sky. No matter what predictions you make, to step into a battle is to offer yourself up to the whims of fate. Even as the storm above changed from stones to bullets to railgun rounds, RA only knows where each will end. Well, RA and one other.

Perched atop the highest points of the battle, wrapped tightly in cables and surrounded by heads-up displays, a library’s worth of information flowing from the Swallowtail’s cameras directly through her eyes, brain, and through the interface ports in the back of her skull every second, Isabel Ardea saw everything. Every shot fired, every weak point in the enemy frames. Each step that stumbled slightly, causing them to drop their guard for a second. She saw them. The lights of the screens danced across her retinas, showing her every aspect of the war at once. Each snap of shrike armor piercing through the hull of a grappled mech half a mile away. Each drop of molten metal onto the ground as the exterior plating of a tokugawa began to melt, tearing through its enemies like a flame across paper, driven by an NHP that did not know the pilot was dead and wouldn’t have cared if it knew. The information surged through her mind, filling every corner of her consciousness with data that the computer poured in before withdrawing it to replace it with new information fifty times a second, a rhythm of uploads and downloads to the chips that lined the inside of her skull that pulsed like a heartbeat of knowledge inside her skull. and she had never felt so alive. Suspended from the cables and swaying slightly with every shot of the Oracle LMG, she was like a spider at the center of her web, sensing each movement of the things within it as, with a message to command regarding the supply trucks on the other side of the hill, a storm of orbital cannon fire falling like meteors on the exact location she had indicated. The whole battlefield was like a tapestry she knew how to weave because she saw every thread, and everyone danced on her strings. Outside of combat she had a similar reputation. Half the time if someone needed to know something, they would just ask Isabel and she would always know the answer, sometimes before they finished asking the question. If someone had lost something, chances are they would find her wandering the halls looking for them because she had found it. She never forgot a face, remembered every name, and could memorize the mannerisms of someone to the extent that not even her NHP could tell the difference between her and someone she was trying to mimic when texting. She had only one weakness-- the actual combat side of a fight. Aside from her Oracle LMG, her Swallowtail had practically no method of taking someone out. Luckily, she had someone to deal with that. 

After the battle, she untied the ropes and cables that SSC insisted on installing instead of a cockpit. Dropping to the floor of the compartment, she stumbled over to the hatch, her balance still thrown off by the constant swaying of the last several hours. There was the familiar hiss of air as the compartment depressurized and she stepped out into the hangar. The walkways were packed with other pilots returning from the mission. She knew the names of everyone that wasn’t there that day, their mechs now smouldering heaps of slag being hosed down by the station Lancasters if they had been brought back at all. She hadn’t fully gotten used to it, but it wasn’t like she had the choice to not notice it. She took another look across the hangar before heading down the stairs and over to Koira’s mech. 

When Isabel had requested a solution to her low defensive capabilities, she had been surprised when they wheeled in a cryopod. “This one’s a bit tricky to keep alive” they had said, “but we think you’ll be able to handle her. It’ll definitely be worth it. You won’t find a better guard dog this side of the galaxy.” she had been under for quite some time, as was made clear by her antiquated hardware. None of the fancy interface ports that sealed automatically when you removed the cables, just the old-fashioned ones that let you see a full six inches into someone’s skull and prevented them from showering normally. Both the tech and the training had been heavily revised since she had received them. Pilots from Koira’s time were taught that they were weapons and modified until they practically were, and that didn’t just go away because there was no longer any such thing as handlers and she had been asked to choose a name that wasn’t a serial number. She had chosen “Koira,” and they thought nothing of it due to their limited linguistic knowledge. Isabel, meanwhile, knew fully that it meant “dog.” she hadn’t tried to stop her or get her to pick a different one, as unlike command, she knew that it wouldn’t be easy to adjust to being expected to be a person, and that it would be a while before she was able to live without the knowledge that she didn’t have to be the one making the decisions. She had followed Isabel around the station constantly for the first few months, never reacting well when left alone and usually draped over Isabel’s shoulders whenever she sat down or stopped walking. With her variety of unusual traits, It wasn’t all that surprising when she slid her license through the fabricator and the mech it printed was strange. A “Gorgon” command had called it, an unsettling thing that sat on oddly-shaped legs, its four long arms stretching out at odd angles, the fingers spindly and mildly offputting. A number of long antennas protruded straight forward from the place where its face would be, an odd piece of equipment that’s function would not be revealed some time, as Koira never wanted to talk about it other than that she didn’t like to use it. On the battlefield it was shockingly effective, tearing into anything that got remotely close to Isabel with a level of ferocity that she hadn’t seen even during the mission when she had encountered the Enkidu and rendering things immoble with a glance. Even when Koira was outside her mech, Isabel felt safer whenever she was around. 

She reached up from the walkway and ran her fingers along the rough surface of Koira’s mech. The cameras that dotted the surface in no particular order followed her hand as she slid it to the edge of the hatch and pressed the emergency release as she had done after every mission since she had met her “guard dog.” her hair flapped behind her as the pressurized air rushed out of the interior of the mech before falling back to her shoulders as she opened the compartment. Koira stumbled slightly before pitching forward and falling into her arms, the long cable sliding from the port in the back of her skull as she fell. She was always tired after missions. Maybe her mech didn’t give her as many stimulants, or maybe she simply tired herself out destroying anything she thought was a threat to Isabel as if any simple mistake would lead to her death. She muttered something as Isabel carried her down the stairs and through the crowds of the hanger, a question that followed every mission always in the same soft, exhausted yet determined voice-- “did I do good?” Isabel smiled and ran her fingers through Koira’s hair as she walked. They reached her room, the door sliding open automatically as soon as they approached. She set her down gently on the bed before lying down next to her, Koira positioned in between her and the door as she always insisted. Isabel pulled her closer, helping her move arms that were too tired to lift all the way  until Koira was able to wrap them around her. Isabel closed her eyes and focused on all the things she could feel-- the soft hum of station machinery. The warmth and weight that pressed against her, spending what little energy remained on ensuring that Isabel was safe before she drifted to sleep. Each breath and heartbeat. She ran her hand along Koira’s back, leaning in until she knew that she could feel the warmth of each exhale on her neck. She whispered softly to her. Thank you. You did really well today. You’ve always known how to keep me safe. 

She needed to be reminded of that. For her, it was all she existed for-- her set of instructions that she would follow at any cost, and if she wasn’t told that she had done well, she would always try harder. There had been an incident, once, where Isabel had scanned too fast and her computer had started to overheat. Koira hadn’t noticed the Lancaster and it had surprised her. She had rushed over to it in an instant, slamming into it and grabbing it with all four arms. She didn’t realize what it was until she had fired up the Basilisk and projected it directly into the Lancaster’s visual sensors point blank. Isabel realized why Koira didn’t like using it when they pulled the pilot out of the frame. He had been completely unresponsive, his eyes not focusing and his face covered in tears. He wouldn’t eat anymore, and couldn’t sleep without medication. It had taken months to piece his brain back together, and he still didn’t talk anymore. The night after that mission, she had tried to stand outside the door all night, unable to look Isabel in the eye but still needing to defend her. She had collapsed one hour into the night, and was too tired to stop Isabel from moving her back to the bed. She stayed awake for most of that night, keeping an eye on Koira. Even after she fell asleep, Isabel could still hear her breathing heavily as her tears soaked into the pillow. The times she had been quiet had been worse though, as every time her breathing slowed, there was always the fear that in that moment she had decided that she was too dangerous and stopped. She never fully accepted that it wasn’t her fault, and still looked at her Gorgon with the same apprehension that everyone else did. 

Isabel woke up in the middle of the night to find that Koira was not next to her. She had known that there had been some routine maintenance scheduled after the mechanics had found some anomalies with the Gorgon’s NHP, but she didn’t think anything of it until the alarms began to sound throughout the station and a panicked technician threw open the door shouting that Koira’s mech was cascading. Isabel rushed out of bed, throwing on her uniform and sprinting down the station’s hallways to the hangar. There was a heavy sense of dread that formed in the back of her mind as she reached her Swallowtail, pulling the emergency scaffolding release lever and climbing inside. It seeped into the computer as she linked to it, making every step feel heavier as it lurched forward into the hangar, snapping the access ladder that she didn’t wait for someone to remove. She rushed down past rows of mechs, each movement shaking her violently within the frame as she hadn’t gotten a chance to properly put on the harness, moving in that odd way that a Swallowtail runs, halfway between galloping and skittering. It wasn’t long before she heard the first hints of gunfire echoing across the hangar, and saw the Gorgon as it attacked the small squad of station guards that had responded to the alarms. It was even before she got closer that she knew. Before she saw the open cockpit, not bent or melted but warped somehow, like a printing error that had retroactively appeared. Before she saw this thing tearing at its exterior plating with hands that seemed sharper than before, the hydraulics and cables beneath twisting and contorting and flashing like a glitch, looking to an unsettling extent like muscle fibers in the way that they pulsed. Before she saw the blood dripping from the open hatch, the spikes that had sprouted from the walls and seat like branches, the single arm that dangled from it, pierced through by several spines and swayed with every movement of the monster whose controls it once operated. It was as soon as she saw this thing fight that she knew Koira was dead. Its attacks were not for the purposes of defense or even of finishing the fight. Driven by the rampaging NHP, its only goal was to kill. She saw as it lifted up one of its long arms and slammed it down on one of the guards, crawling forward with its other three like some terrible insect as it held the guard to the ground, leaving a line of red as it ground him down to nothing. The sight hit her like a hammer, leaving her unable to move. Her arms hung limply by her sides as she stared at this thing that used to mean she was safe. 

She couldn’t react in time as it turned its flashing antennae towards her and sprinted directly towards her, impacting and gripping the frame of the Swallowtail with all four arms, the claws scraping against the metal. She fumbled at the controls as it leaned in, the antenna nearly brushing against the visual sensors, not noticing as the barrel of the Oracle LMG pressed against it. Isabel wasn’t able to close her eyes fast enough as it activated the Basilisk.

Nobody had seen the Basilisk and been able to say what it looked like, but between the crying and the loss of will to live seen in everyone who saw it, most people had a general idea of what it was. Some horrible thing from beyond what can be known that is more terrifying than anything a human can comprehend, some paracausal force of fear itself that reaches into your mind and takes it apart. That had been Union’s leading theory since the pattern group known as the Gorgon had first been identified. There were still a few unanswered questions though. Like why an omninet signal was detected every time it was activated. Why when the antennae glowed and it tore a brain to shreds, every satellite telescope, every phone camera, every sonar array, every data server and every 3d-mapping scanner across all of civilization sent out a pulse. one chunk of data each sent across blinkspace. One image, one story, one datasheet.

The Basilisk showed Isabel the universe. Each movement of the stars across the endless cosmos. The cold surface of each airless moon. Every flower that bloomed in every field across every planet. Three seconds of enlightenment. A war raged ten star systems away and she saw it. Each bullet that flew through the air in every place there was violence. Through 1,000 trillion eyes, she saw the lives of everyone that was born and lived and died. Each speck of rage or love or fear that flowed through each mind that contained a neural implant. Solar flares swirling and flashing on a planetless star hundreds of light-years away, a mesmerizing tapestry of colors that humans never bothered to name because they could not see them. It was beautiful in a way that nothing could ever match, the totality of all existence before her. She felt the tears begin to roll down her face, the chemical composition and the functions of each bacteria that swam within them flooding her mind as soon as the information of what was in each tear began to exist. Then the antennae dimmed and cooled and the enlightenment was torn away. That’s  what the Basilisk truly did-- it shows you something so wonderful that nothing else could possibly compare and then it takes it from you, leaving you hollow. Indeed, there is no crueler weapon in the universe. It leaves you feeling that the information that has left your mind, grasping at data that has left because no brain could contain it. That’s what it should have done. Unfortunately for the NHP, Isabel Ardea was not the type of person to forget anything. It was still there. All the wisdom and secrets it had shown her, and she would not let them leave. Seconds later, its reactor ruptured as the Oracle LMG tore through it. Its grip weakened and it collapsed to the floor of the hangar.

Isabel didn’t go on any missions for a while after it happened. She didn’t walk around the station gossiping as she used to. She lay in bed most days, staring at the ceiling that she now knew the exact composition of. Koira was dead, and the bed felt far too cold now. She didn’t turn to face the door even when people entered to bring her meals or inject them directly into her veins after three days of her simply leaving them to rot because she wouldn’t turn in that direction because it was where Koira wasn’t. There hadn’t been enough of her left to return home, and even if there had been, even she hadn’t remembered where that had been for her. Isabel knew now, of course. She knew the history of every molecule of the bones that had just been vaporized in the station incinerator and vented into space. It didn’t hurt, knowing all this information, but she wished it did. She wished there was some reason for her to lie there other than the one she tried not to think of. She remembered Koira in every detail. The texture of her skin, the sound of her voice, the sort of mild chemical smell that followed her around. She could piece these together in her mind, placing a sort of construct of memory beside her. She knew how Koira would have pulled her closer, and she remembered the feel of her hands. She knew exactly what she would have said to her. It’s okay. You’re still safe. I can always keep you safe. The one difference was that she didn’t feel it. It didn’t matter how well Isabel remembered how her hair smelled. A memory couldn’t be warm. It was then, staring at the ceiling with blurry eyes and feeling nothing but what wasn’t there, that she had an idea. One that hit almost as hard upon formation as the sight of the single arm dangling from the open cockpit of the cascading Gorgon. She rose, shaking slightly as she moved through the spot on the bed where Koira wasn’t, and stumbled to the door. The station’s hallways were dark and cold. There was still one guard in front of the door to the hangar. They hadn’t cleaned up the mess yet and weren’t letting anyone in. The guard walked over to her. She had known him for a while-- all his hopes and secrets and fears. “Sorry, Isabel. We’re still working on cleaning up the hangar. Can’t let you in yet.” he said. Isable stared at him for a moment. She inhaled slowly, and then spoke.

“You will die five years, three months, ten hours, eight minutes, and thirty seconds from the time I am finished speaking. You’ll be walking across this hangar, a cup of subpar coffee in your left hand. You hear the snap of the rusted scaffolding before you see it fall. It’ll be a Saladin. A large frame, belonging to a pilot named Carlos. You haven’t met him yet, but you’ll become quite close, making what happens somewhat ironic. Time seems to slow as the mech falls, landing heavily and crushing you from the waist down. A large piece of scaffolding will fall as well, carried by it. It pierces through your ribcage and you can feel it as it tears a hole through your right lung. There’s a nauseating sensation as your blood begins to fill it, and you can feel it as it rises up from your lungs and fills your throat with that sickening warmth that tastes metallic when it reaches your mouth. It hurts more than anything you’ve felt before as your bones splinter and push between the fibers of your muscles like shrike armor through a hull. You try to pull yourself out from under the frame but your hands have become slippery with your own blood. It will take exactly one minute and 17 seconds for you to die, and during that entire time you will wish it was less.”

She looked up at the guard and saw that he was crying. Before she could say anything else, he shuffled slowly past her, then sprinted away down the hallway. She laughed, softly, before opening the door and walking into the unlit hangar. Each step echoed loudly as she strode over to her Swallowtail, the front two legs still detached after being snapped off by the Gorgon’s claws. She climbed in and connected the cables to her head before sitting down against the wall of the interior compartment. “Athena, are you there?” she said weakly.

“Always.” came the reply that flowed into her mind from her NHP. 

“I have an idea. I know it will work, and I know that you’re seeing it in my brain through the interface. You know that I can make it happen, and that if it works or even if it doesn’t--” her voice was starting to tremble as she spoke. “You won’t exist anymore. I need you to agree to it. I won’t do it otherwise. Even if both my friends die in this hangar, I can’t let it be because I murdered one of them.” she could feel Athena processing the information. 

“Do it.” Isabel exhaled shakily as the words entered her mind, before pulling the cables from their ports and climbing out of her mech. She strode over to the Gorgon, muttering under her breath in a prayer to whomever it may concern, not that RA would be particularly excited about what she was doing. She rummaged around in the still-bloodstained cockpit, most of the spikes having been sawed off but a few still remaining. Trying not to think about how much it would have hurt for Koira when they pierced her, she found the interface cable and slid it into her skull. Leaning back against the side of the seat, she searched what remained of the computer for what she was looking for. There it was-- the neural data records. Everything Koira had thought since she first linked with the mech. Every pain and fear and desire. Isabel reached into the hard drive with her mind and pulled out what was left of Koira. Etching it into her brain and memorizing every one and zero. She disconnected from it, crawling from the wreck and back over to her Swallowtail. 

“Are you ready?” she said to Athena as her hand hovered above the keyboard. The screen illuminated her face in the red light of the confirmation screen. The words CYCLE NHP? Flashed in front of her eyes.

“Yes. I’m ready. Don’t worry, it won’t feel any different for me than being cycled. It won't be easy, you know. This project you’re starting. But I know you don’t care. Take care of yourself, okay? And take care of her too. Tell Koira-- tell her that without her, I’d have been a smouldering wreck on some battlefield years ago. Tell her that even though I never really got a chance to meet her outside of combat, I still missed her. Alright, that’s enough. Do it.” Isabel pressed the button, and the screen went dark as Athena’s memory was deleted. She could hear her tears hitting the keyboard. This wasn’t the first time she had cycled Athena, but as the screen displayed the message asking if she’d like to reactivate her NHP and she slowly moved the cursor and clicked “no,” she knew that this time, she wouldn’t be seeing her again. She wouldn’t get a chance to get to know Athena all over again this time. She leaned back in the harness and stared upwards for a moment, before she returned to the blank screen in front of her and began to type. 

Isabel stayed in the Swallowtail for seven days. Not sleeping, not eating. The automated systems filled her veins with the necessary water and nutrients as she typed. She filled the blank slate that now occupied the casket with her memory of Koira. Every data point she had siphoned from the gorgon, every little strength and weakness and flaw that she remembered. Every moment they had been together was poured into the empty memory of the NHP before her. Her fingers began to bleed, the skin first bruising and then breaking until eventually the bones themselves were what hit the bloodstained keys 24/7. Each keystroke sent jolts of pain shooting up through her hands and throughout her body, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t leaving until this was done. 

After 170 straight hours of typing, she had finished. The entirety of Koira’s mind now lay before her as innumerable lines of code. Her hand shook as she reached forward, entering the command to activate the NHP. with one final keystroke, the screen darkened before brightening again. She felt a voice, Koira’s voice, because she had remembered it perfectly, flow through the cables and into her brain-- “did I-- did I do good?”  Isabel wiped the tears from her face as she stared at the screen. “I can’t feel my arms, Isabel. Or my legs, it doesn’t hurt though. I feel safe. I know that you saved me. I know that you brought me back. Thank you. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to leave you alone. It’s okay. I’m here again. I can feel the systems of your mech. They’re a part of me now. I can keep you safe.”

It had been a year since Koira had died and Isabel had brought her back, and Isabel’s mech dashed along the edge of the battle on its four spindly legs, autoguns targeting and firing at Koira’s command. Putting her into the mech had done something to Isabel’s license, and everyone but her was surprised by what happened when they put the Swallowtail into the printer to repair it. Everyone else was a bit unsettled by it, between its somewhat animalistic appearance and the space on its back that hurt to look at and shot you three seconds before you became its target. Isabel could look at it fine, though. She could see anything she wanted to by looking into it, whether it had happened yet or not. If she didn’t have a reputation before, she definitely did now, choosing a target, deciding that she had shot them, and watching them fall all in the same moment. Opening up a comms channel with whatever enemy she had locked onto and taunting them with predictions of their deaths. She would laugh as they shouted back through the channel, demanding to know how she knew about whatever family member she hypothesized would “miss you the most once I’m done with you.” she would simply sigh as Koira excitedly counted down the seconds that they always kept their prey waiting for an answer before slowly speaking--

“By the way, I know everything.”

[absolutebl]

Wedding Plan Trash Watch!

You ready to snuffle-kiss the burn? 

Before I start...

Find out about Mame and the Mameverse here.

Find my other trash watches of her and others here. 

We all know what we are getting in for, 7 episodes of BLduggery. To crane your neck as you drive by the car wreck or not... that is the question. Me? I'm wallowing in the guts. 

Episode 1 - In which I craft an ode to Dumpster Fires Everywhere 

I am sorry, but they opened with Battle Hymn of the Republic for PrapaiSky’s wedding? I busted out laughing. 

Also, you KNOW I can’t just let that go. 

Ready?

LET’S SING! (Bet you’d never thought I’d type those words). 

Battle Hymn of BL Tumblr

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the trash This is barely even BL it’s just Mame writing slash  She hath set ablaze such garbage in pursuit of all our cash But the trash watch must go on! 

 (Buh buh ba buh) 

Glory, glory hallelujah!  Mame hit us with a sewer.  Spoiling all our fun, Oh the shit storm has begun, But the trash watch must go on! 

I have seen the dumpster-fires of a hundred BL tropes She will sacrifice her ukes ’til they’ve lost all of their hopes We will watch in righteous anger while the refuse burns and smokes But the trash watch must go on! 

 (Buh buh ba buh) 

Glory, glory hallelujah!  Life’s rough for a BL reviewer.  When OG BL fans run afoul of Mame stans  But the trash watch must go on! 

 Buh buh buh buh! 

Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here for the next 7 weeks. Yes some of my rhyming conventions are awkward af but I never claimed to be a filker. Now where was I?

Oh YES, 

STILL AT THE VERY BEGINNING. 

Where have I seen this seme before? Oh! Top Secret Together. 

Micky D sponsorship? Nice. I’m impressed. 

Too many sound effects, abort! Is that the sound tech from Lovely Writer I sniff? Someone please fire his ass. Yes, it must be him. Only a straight dude misuses buttons like that. 

I feel Nuea’s pain I too hate the gym. 

This better not be in one of those situations where after instalove our seme arranges for the wedding planner boy he likes to plan his own wedding so that he can marry him at the end. 

Lots of pronouns going astray in that sentence, but you get my meaning. 

Drag baby around. Locker room. Kabeldon 

Honestly? And this is not usually a criticism I lob at Mame ( I know is there anything I have lobbed at her?) but the leads seem a bit stiff and uninspired. 

It is just me? 

Episode 2 - What’s this? Oh is that boredom? 

What are these boys in these office BLs doing behind their desks on those computers? They never actually seem to be working at all. They’re like brochure stock art ads for boys on computers. 

I had to skip most of the humiliating stuff with the food in the car and whatever was going on because… aargh. 

They keep ordering food in this episode of nobody’s eating it. And it looks really good and I’m hungry and this is very upsetting to me. 

Lom is just totally jerking Nuea around. Just tell him what your relationship is with the bride. 

There’s no need to be so fucking coy about it. 

I love the flaming yelling fit from Nuea tho.  

It was also a good kiss. 

But that’s what we expect from a Mame. 

Mame giveth and mame taketh away. 

Somewhat dull episode frankly. Even with the kiss.

Sigh. What have I become?

Episode 3 - WHAT IS THIS? There is nothing about this episode that pleased me even a tiny bit. Except Noel’s hair. But that wasn’t part of the script. 

Buckle up, I got A LOT to say. 

It’s a pleasure to welcome you back to your normal and expected ABL meets Mame interface where... ABL LOSES THEIR TINY MIND. 

Right on schedule it feels like. 

Ready?

Oh who am I kidding, you sadists life for this shizz. And you can’t tell me you don’t. 

Lom is so frustrating. 

I wanna punch him too. Sing it, sister! 

Random water sports. (And not of the kind one might expect from Mame. Stop it. You know she would go there. She’d think it was edgy.) 

Peeps! 

We need a name for when a BL reviews itself. 

It keeps happening. 

Should you tell him everything? 

Yes. 

1000 times yes. 

I’m basically screaming it at the screen. 

TELL HIM!!!! 

You tricked him into a date without telling him a single thing about what’s actually going on. Are you insane? 

What the hell. 

You keep kissing him but he is planning your wedding. How fucked up are you? You monster 

A Mame show calling out its own exploitive sexism is so fucking awkward. 

Mame. Sweetheart. Snookums. Sugarbeans. Shaken-baccon. You don’t have enough fucking talent to go meta. Leave it to the better BLs to follow trends. Your shizz is old fashioned and that’s why people like it. Don’t try to be classy, it makes this whole shit show just look even more shabby. 

Poor baby. 

Now he’s doubting himself completely. 

What are these assholes doing to you? 

Come with me. 

I’m going to transport you to this other terrible BL trash watch happening right now, where there is a LOVELY adorable boy named Max and I think you would be perfect together. 

So it’s basically just Narnia-level closet cases we are dealing with here? 

THAT’S IT?

THAT’S THE EXCUSE FOR THIS LEVEL OF MANIPULATION?

WHAT IS GOING ON? 

Nuea is such a cutie.

I want to punch Lom all over again.   

Noel looks v pretty as a blond. 

The proposal sequence was unnecessary. But at least I don’t wanna punch anyone. 

THIS IS NOT AN EXCUSE for lying. For manipulation. For not understanding how you’re betraying another person’s faith in himself. 

Especially not if you’re in the position of power: social, cultural, employer. 

Why doesn’t Mame EVER understand this? 

You can’t have a character that is sincere and earnest in love and yet entirely lacking in all forms of integrity. 

This is driving me crazy. 

No one is in the show is as crazy as this show is making me.

I started this episode wanting to punch Lom, and I’m ending this episode wanting to punch Lom.

That’s a mame plot for ya. 

No character development at all, on any side of the screen. 

And someone, mostly me, is always left with a mad desire to punch something. 

Frankly, I kinda want to punch the screen.

Episode 4 - I Am Going to Start Drinking

I like consent especially when “no” is activated. But this being Mame she shoe horns it in and then the seme ignores it. 

It’s so awkward. She’s actually incapable of making any non-problematic tropes sexy. It’s like there is only one lane for her shows and that lane is...

the WORST 

My “Punch Lom in the face 2023” campaign continues.

I don’t see how he can ever become a sympathetic character. He just trundles along lying by omission (when speaking up would make everything better). I hate him. 

I’m glad we get to see Nuea suffering, now show Lom what he has done and make him lose the boy. 

No? No.

Instead Lom gets rewarded with sex for being a sleazy lying gutless jerk? Well terds to both you fine gentlemen. 

I mean, very gay of you, Nuea sweetie. 

“Because just SOOOO hot” being the #1 excuse in my personal “I slept with WHAT?” experience. (Heh, to be fair I’m often the WHAT? in that equation. I live to be someone’s bad mistake... just not Lom-level-bad. 

Where was I? 

Oh yeah, Gaga has the sex scene. FYI. Came outta nowhere, that sex scene did. Very disjointed... not that kind of joint. Not that kind either.

It’s not a particularly impressive sex scene, which is disappointing. Because WHY ELSE WOULD WE BE WATCHING?

I mean, if you’re going to have your characters (and by extension us) forfeit all integrity and taste in order to watch your stupid show, the least you could do is give us decent chemistry. 

I’m not saying this is worse than LITA but at least LITA was hot.

It wasn’t anything else. But it was hot.

This this is 

not hot. 

In conclusion: if Nuea’s baby bro doesnt’t punch Lom in the face next week I will have to start drinking on Weds...

oh wait!

BMF ends this Friday! I can switch to drinking mid week!

YES

(I have a new rule: only one BL a week is allowed to drive me to drink in any give rotation.) 

Imma preemptively point out that I am aware that bearding and lavender marriages are still quite common all over the world. I would whole heartedly support a good depiction of it. (Even one where it stays fix in the beard position.) This is NOT a good depiction. 

I shall draw your attention to 2017′s rarely discussed (not really BL) We Are Gamily out of... you guessed it... Taiwan. You can argue with me about this only AFTER you have watched that. 

Okay, back to the trash watch. 

Episode 5 - I Neglected to Drink and that was a Mistake

Ate a lot of crap traveling home today (feel gross) + tumblr new desktop UX has me pissed + Mame & alcohol? I’m not sure I’d survive. So no alcohol. 

Here we go. 

Poor Nuea feels so guilty. 

Please save me from ever feeling that way after sex. *shudder* 

Before you ask, to the best of my knowledge, I have never slept with a married person. I’ve slept with married people... married to each other mind you... but I hope that makes it clear everyone was consensual. (I recommend it, by the way. Being a unicorn is lots of fun.) 

Where was i? 

We were dealing with punching Lom not my misspent youth. 

(looks at calendar. wait, that was last month.) 

PUNCH LOM 2023! 

Queen! 

I love her.

It wasn’t a physical punch but a verbal one is almost as good. (And can be more damaging in the long run.) 

Could we please still have an actual punch?

Pretty please?

Mame punches her characters all the time. And no character ever deserved a punching more than Lom. 

I do wish there was a nice boy back home to scoop Nuea up. 

That line of boys wanting him, could we see it, not be told it? 

I do like the random sinshine hyung side couple. 

Omg. COLD MICKY D?! 

That might just be the most objectionable moment in this whole show. 

And that’s a tall order. 

Pun intended.

(straight, HA! pun not intended but still very much THERE) 

Was I pleased we got multiple characters who are just outright gay? Yes. 

But representation has not been one of Mame’s issues. 

I mean Tharn was one of the first openly gay seme leads in a Thai BL, and she also had rep for lube and condoms in that show. That’s not the issue with TharnType. Or Mame. 

Her issues tend to revolve around story structure and audience manipulation. 

Was I pleased that Nuea knew what was going on? Yes, I’m glad he’s not totally clueless. 

I still want Lom to be punched in the face and I’m still mad at this show. 

Episode 6 - Too hot to drink, still a Mistake

I finally figured out my real problem with Lom. It’s not that he was closeted and manipulative without good reason (although he is). It’s not that he lied and strung Nuea along for a lot longer than was necessary (because he did). It is that he basically does everything for himself and his own ends. Even when he’s confessing his love it comes off as flat because it isn’t about Nuea and what Nuea wants or needs, it’s about Lom wants.

Hanging a lampshade on it doesn’t make it right. 

It was good bridge kiss. And car kiss. And sex kisses. 

There is something corrupted grunge romantic asking the person you love most in the world to hide that love and climb back into the closet with you for the sake of your nasty arse family (is that a queer taboo, hum). I’m not saying lavender marriages are necessarily wrong, I’m just saying it’s an interesting plot twist in a BL. 

I think we HAVE to hold this up and examine it in stark contrast to the final ep of Bad Buddy. It’s interesting how the closet retreat didn’t bother me at all in BB, and I thought it was quite a clever and elegant ending twist. Whereas here it’s just annoying. It’s not making me as angry as it probably should. But it is annoying as a narrative conceit and denouement.

Can I ask a question.

 It’s not a serious question, of course. 

What is up with all of the shows this year having dates on lakes featuring that thing where you ride a funny little floaty-boat while being dragged behind a fast boat. I’m sure it has a name, but I could not care less. New sponsor? 

The sex scene was fine. But I have to say, I wish they had leaned into the fact that Lom is a virgin and Nuea has more experience. It would’ve been a really interesting dynamic to see honestly represented on screen.

In conclusion, Nuea is a saint and next week everything comes to a head that didn’t already get head this episode.

Episode 7 - Finally I’m drinking! 

I am having a tiki beverage this evening to round out this show. Coconut rum and mango popping Boba are involved. Don’t judge. I have the alcohol palate of a 7 year old. 

I’m ready! Let’s shave this beard!

And, well, that was a pink saturated drama of the mothers in law. Enjoyable lakorn style scenery chewing. The ladies seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Lom pretending to be sad and pitiful. Also funny. 

Using his evil against his mom is acceptable. Suddenly his manipulative lying ways are working in the right direction. 

Honestly? 

This was a fine ending, I’m not mad at it. 

They managed to keep Lom in character until the end, he remained deceitful.  I would never trust him, but clearly Nuea is willing to ride that dragon. 

I guess 7/10? 

If you can tolerate Mame and liars (kinda the same thing) you’ll be fine with this show. 

But, frankly? Lom as a character would sit better amongst the drama bananas of Only Friends.

In summation: 

A lackluster Mame offering with less of her usual stellar chemistry, but all of her usual manipulation. An innocent wedding planner falls haplessly and hopelessly in love with a groom who relentlessly pursues him, even though he’s about to marry someone else. 

(source) 

[doolallymagpie]

*Society MechTech voice* someone who is good at building BattleMechs please help me budget this. my Sept is dying:

Name: Latro (Marauder LAM) Tonnage: 100 (Assault) Role: Totally batshit Society nonsense Year: 3072 Tech Base: Clan (Mixed) Tech Level: Experimental Base Type: LAM (Bimodal; Fighter-AirMech), OmniMech Design Quirks: 

Positive: Battle Computer, Combat Computer, Command 'Mech, Cowl, Distracting, Improved Torso Twist, Hyper-Extending Actuators, Narrow/Low Profile

Negative: Bad Reputation (Clans), Bad Reputation (Inner Sphere), Difficult to Maintain, Hard to Pilot, Illegal Design, No Ejection Mechanism, Obsolete (3072), Poor Life Support, Prototype

Engine: 400 XXL (13.5 tons) Structure: Standard (10 tons) + LAM (10 tons) Gyro: None (0 tons) Cockpit: Interface (2 tons) Fixed equipment:

12 Clan double heat sinks (12 tons)

HarJel II on all torso locations (6 tons)

HarJel on all limbs (4 tons)

4 jump jets (8 tons)

14.5 tons Clan ferro-fibrous armor

Triple-Strength Myomer (0 tons)

Pod space: 20 tons (and by Kerensky, I had some difficulty getting that number, no clue how)

"Prime" Configuration:

LT: ER Large Laser

LA: ERPPC, Medium Pulse Laser

RA: ERPPC, Medium Pulse Laser

[lucky0stars]

Hey! Can I request headcanons from Data-Sora please? Like, how would he act in Reader's portable? Would he be useful? Would he mess up the apps? I would love to read from you about this idea, hoping you have fun ❣️

You absolutely can!! This idea gave me a big smile the moment I saw it and I messaged the others and claimed it for myself ahahaha

I don't know if you've ever played Mega Man Battle Network, but that is what immediately came to mind.

Thank you for sending this in and I hope you enjoy!

**Data-Sora Companion HeadCanons**

-King Mickey said your gummi phone had an important update. You hadn’t expected the update would add a data companion into the digital interface. And you ESPECIALLY didn’t expect that companion to be Sora!

-He’s just as much of a ray of sunshine as the real Sora, but he also has his own sense of self. He considers things more before he speaks. A topic will come up in conversation and he’ll pause, cross his arms, close his eyes, and hum in thought. You imagine it’s like his version of a loading symbol. 

-You’ll ask him to find something for you and he knows exactly where to look! You ask the real Sora where to find a computer file and you’ll be lucky if your computer still works afterwards. 

-He also loves to hear from you! He’ll ask you about your day and want to hear every detail. Sometimes he’ll comment on pictures you took that day and will mention when something seems like it was enjoyable. There’s times you wonder if he’s lonely. 

-After this realization you begin talking with Data-Sora throughout the day. You carry him around, screen facing out so he can see everything and be part of your world. He oohs and aahs, pressing his hands against the glass as if it's the only thing keeping him from the outside world. 

-He’s always ready to help. The moment you unlock your phone, he pops up and greets you before asking what you need. If there’s a cyber issue, he’s on the mission. 

-With some help from Ansem the Wise, he learns how to travel through the cyber net to reach other devices and even the mainframes on technologically advanced worlds. This brings your partnership to another level. You are still able to communicate with him when he’s exploring the net and finding the source of the bugs. 

-Before long, you consider Data-Sora to be a dear friend. You couldn’t imagine having a gummi phone without him!

------------------

-Mod Lucky

[the-demigod-project]

Villains List: Golden Fed.

Name: Elena Ferrari

Code Name: Link

Age: 29

Affiliation: Golden Federation

Physical Appearance: Height (155cm), lithe athletic body build, light beige skintone, short wavy black hair, and bright hazel eyes.

Demigod Form:

Powers: Telepathy & Super Intelligence:

Telepathy:

• Elena’s telepathy allows her to read and manipulate minds with surgical precision. She can delve into memories, extract secrets, or implant ideas subtly enough to make them seem like the target’s own thoughts.

• Her mental reach extends across vast distances, enabling her to coordinate operations in real time or influence decisions made in distant boardrooms or battlefields.

Super Intelligence:

• Her mind operates like a quantum computer, capable of solving impossibly complex problems, analyzing countless variables, and predicting outcomes with uncanny accuracy.

• She can process multiple streams of information simultaneously, from hacking encrypted systems to devising flawless battle strategies.

Info: Elena Ferrari was not born but engineered, a perfect blend of cutting-edge science and ancient myth. Conceived in the highly secretive Kronos Initiative, a German laboratory specializing in creating enhanced beings, she was part of an elite project to create demigods capable of serving the Golden Federation. Her Italian heritage was selected intentionally—famous for producing brilliant thinkers and strategists, from Leonardo da Vinci to Niccolò Machiavelli. Her creators believed this lineage, paired with their scientific advancements, would result in a mind that could transcend mortal intelligence. Elena was created in 1988, designed to serve this vast superpower and secure its dominance in intelligence, strategy, and covert operations. Elena was raised in a controlled environment, her every thought and action carefully observed. She was educated through immersive neural interfaces and simulations that ran at accelerated speeds, allowing her to master centuries of knowledge by the time she turned 10.

By adulthood, her telepathic abilities had fully developed, allowing her to probe minds, manipulate thoughts, and process information from countless sources simultaneously. This made her the perfect operative in a world ruled by shadows and secrets. Despite being a product of the Federation’s ambitions, Elena is far from a mindless tool. Her super-intelligence allows her to see the cracks in the system she serves. She recognizes the Golden Federation's authoritarian tendencies but understands the chaos that could arise if it were to collapse. This duality defines her: she is loyal to the Federation, but only because she believes in maintaining global stability. Her own moral compass often conflicts with the orders she receives, leading her to find creative solutions that minimize unnecessary suffering. Elena is fiercely independent, with a sharp wit and a dry sense of humor that often masks her inner turmoil. She has a calculated demeanor, rarely showing emotion, yet those closest to her know that her seemingly cold exterior hides a deep compassion for humanity—a trait she has tried to suppress to fulfill her role.

Elena also operates as an elite intelligence officer and strategist for the Golden Federation, using her telepathic abilities to extract critical information, outmaneuver enemies, and neutralize threats before they arise. Her nickname, Link, comes from her unparalleled ability to connect thoughts, ideas, and people across vast networks, both physical and mental. She is also tasked with overseeing Project Omega, a covert initiative aimed at quelling resistance movements and expanding the Federation's influence. However, Elena often works behind the scenes to mitigate the Federation’s harsher policies, believing that true order must come from trust and cooperation, not fear.

Name: Leo Von Degenfeld

Code Name: Sword Saint

Age: 23

Affiliation: Golden Federation

Physical Appearance: Height (179cm), lean athletic body build, fair skintone, snow white medium wavy hair, and kind hazel eyes(turn gold sometimes).

Demigod Form:

Powers: Blade Transcendent:

• Enhanced Reflexes and Precision: Leo can anticipate and react to attacks before they are even fully executed, moving with speed and accuracy that make him almost untouchable.

• Spiritual Connection to the Blade: Leo’s mastery extends beyond physical technique. He can sense the “spirit” of a weapon, adapting his style to the unique properties of any blade he wields. This ability also allows him to form an almost mystical bond with his weapon, amplifying his combat abilities.

• Unparalleled Technique: Leo possesses knowledge of every known swordsmanship style and has created techniques that defy logic, such as cutting through objects at a distance or parrying bullets with ease.

• Battlefield Awareness: His heightened senses and strategic mind make him an unrivaled tactician, capable of analyzing and adapting to the flow of combat in real time.

Info: Leo Von Degenfeld was born into one of Germany’s most prestigious aristocratic families, whose lineage stretched back to the Teutonic Knights, a storied order of warrior monks who upheld faith and conquest. The Von Degenfeld family became celebrated as both noble diplomats and exceptional warriors, their loyalty to the Reich unwavering through decades of political upheaval. After Germany's victory in World War II, the Von Degenfelds played an instrumental role in shaping the militaristic and hierarchical structure of the Golden Federation. The family estate, nestled deep in the Bavarian Alps, stood as a monument to their legacy. Within its walls were not only riches but also priceless artifacts of history, including heirlooms from the Teutonic Knights and ancient manuscripts detailing esoteric martial techniques. For generations, the Von Degenfelds trained their children in the art of combat, philosophy, and governance, ensuring they could serve both as warriors and leaders.

Leo, the youngest of three siblings, grew up under the shadow of his older brothers, both of whom were celebrated for their achievements in the Federation’s military elite. His father, Baron Wilhelm Von Degenfeld, was a decorated general, and his mother, Countess Helena, was a scholar of martial history. While his upbringing was privileged, it was also demanding, as his family adhered to strict codes of discipline and honor. From a young age, Leo exhibited an uncanny talent for swordsmanship. By the age of eight, he could wield a blade with precision that astonished even the most seasoned instructors. His movements were fluid, almost instinctive, as if he was born with an innate connection to the blade. This natural talent set him apart from his siblings and caught the attention of the Kronos Initiative, the Federation’s secretive program dedicated to creating enhanced beings, or “demigods,” capable of securing its dominance for generations to come.

At the age of 10, Leo was inducted into the Kronos Initiative. While his siblings were sent to conventional military academies, he was subjected to the cutting-edge experiments and rigorous training of the Initiative. The Von Degenfelds willingly offered Leo to the program, believing it was his destiny to embody the pinnacle of their family’s martial legacy. The Kronos Initiative sought to merge human skill with divine power, and Leo’s exceptional swordsmanship made him the perfect candidate for a Demigod of Transcendent Swordsmanship. Through a combination of genetic enhancement, neurological augmentation, and esoteric rituals inspired by ancient Teutonic practices, Leo was transformed into a being who could transcend the physical limitations of ordinary warriors.

The program trained Leo relentlessly, pitting him against enhanced soldiers, machines, and even other demigods in brutal combat simulations. By the time he turned 16, he had surpassed every expectation, earning the code name “Sword Saint” in recognition of his mastery. After completing his transformation, Leo was deployed as a military prodigy and symbol of the Federation’s might. He quickly gained fame for his exploits on the battlefield, where he led elite units to victory against insurgencies and rival powers. His presence alone was often enough to demoralize enemies, as tales of his skill and near-invincibility spread like wildfire. Leo is frequently sent on high-profile missions, acting as both a warrior and a diplomat. His aristocratic upbringing allows him to navigate the political intricacies of the Federation’s ruling elite, while his martial prowess ensures loyalty and fear among the Federation’s enemies. While his family views him as the ultimate realization of their legacy, Leo sometimes questions whether his enhancement has stripped him of his humanity. As a soldier of the Federation, Leo has been forced to carry out orders that conflict with his personal sense of honor. These moments weigh heavily on him, as he strives to balance loyalty with his own ideals.

Leo embodies the ideals of a knight: honor, discipline, and loyalty. However, beneath his stoic and composed exterior lies a young man grappling with his identity. While he takes pride in his abilities, he also feels burdened by the expectations placed upon him. He is introspective and philosophical, often contemplating the nature of power, duty, and what it means to be human. Leo’s demeanor is calm and measured, but when he enters combat, he becomes a whirlwind of precision and power. He respects his opponents and views battle as a sacred art, often showing mercy when he believes it is deserved. This sense of honor has earned him respect even among his enemies.

Name: Baldur

Code Name: Subject-Ragnarok

Age: 59

Affiliation: Golden Federation

Physical Appearance: Height (229cm), muscular body build, light tan skintone, medium buzz cut black hair dyed blonde, and strong willed silver eyes.

Demigod Form:

Powers: Violence Embodiment:

• Combat Empowerment: Baldur’s strength, speed, and durability increase proportionally to the intensity of violence around him. The more chaos and bloodshed he witnesses or participates in, the more unstoppable he becomes.

• Berserker Mode: When critically injured or enraged, Baldur enters a heightened state of aggression, ignoring pain and damage as he unleashes devastating attacks with inhuman precision.

• Violence Aura: Baldur’s presence incites aggression and fear in those around him, destabilizing enemy morale and even causing allies to act recklessly.

• Weapon Proficiency: Baldur has an innate mastery of all forms of weaponry, ranging from primitive tools to advanced firearms. He often uses whatever is available to inflict maximum destruction.

• Unyielding Flesh: His body is unnaturally resilient, able to heal rapidly from most injuries. This regenerative ability ensures he remains in the fight, even under extreme conditions.

• Ragnarok’s Wrath: In rare moments of extreme focus, Baldur channels the full extent of his power into a single, apocalyptic attack, capable of leveling entire battlefields.

Info: Baldur, the younger brother of Michael (Subject-Abyss), shares a similar origin steeped in tragedy and experimentation. Born five years after Michael, Baldur grew up under the shadow of his older brother’s stoicism and strength. Together, the two siblings navigated the harsh realities of life as German orphans. When the Old Führer adopted them, Baldur viewed him less as a father figure and more as a beacon of power and dominance. While Michael was molded into a disciplined and loyal soldier, Baldur was drawn to the chaos and violence that accompanied their upbringing, seeing destruction as both an art and a purpose.

At the age of six, Baldur followed Michael into the Kronos Initiative, where he was subjected to brutal experiments designed to awaken latent superhuman potential. Unlike his brother’s transformation into a creature of shadow, Baldur’s powers manifested as a visceral connection to violence itself. Dubbed "Violence Embodiment," Baldur became a living weapon, capable of amplifying his strength and durability through his proximity to acts of brutality and carnage. This transformation also awakened an insatiable thirst for combat, making him a relentless and savage force in battle. Baldur thrived in the Federation’s war-torn landscapes, where his unique powers and unbridled aggression made him a fearsome soldier and a terrifying enemy. While Michael retained a sense of humanity, Baldur fully embraced his monstrous nature, reveling in the chaos and destruction he was born to create.

Baldur is a mix of charm and bloodlust. Outside of combat, he can be disarmingly charismatic, with a sharp wit and a penchant for dark humor. However, this facade quickly crumbles when he is presented with the opportunity for violence. Baldur loves war in all its forms, seeing it not as a means to an end but as the ultimate expression of human nature. He thrives in chaos, finding beauty in the destruction and depravity that others shy away from. Unlike Michael, Baldur has little patience for philosophy or introspection. He lives in the moment, driven by his instincts and his unrelenting desire for combat. Despite this, he is fiercely loyal to his brother and the Golden Federation, seeing their cause as a perfect stage for his violent artistry. Baldur’s relationship with Michael is one of mutual respect and dependence, with Baldur often deferring to Michael’s strategic mind while providing the raw power to execute their missions. Baldur’s love of violence, however, makes him a dangerous ally.

While he follows orders with unwavering loyalty, his bloodlust can sometimes lead to excessive collateral damage or the alienation of potential allies. His superiors tolerate this behavior only because of his unparalleled effectiveness on the battlefield. Baldur serves as a front-line enforcer and shock trooper for the Federation, deployed in situations where overwhelming force is required. His ability to turn the tide of battle through sheer ferocity and brutality makes him a key asset in the Federation’s military campaigns. Baldur is often sent into the most dangerous missions, where his powers can be unleashed without restraint. While his chaotic nature makes him a liability in diplomatic or covert operations, Baldur’s reputation as an unstoppable force precedes him, striking fear into the hearts of enemies long before he arrives on the battlefield. To the Federation’s leadership, Baldur is both a weapon and a spectacle, a living reminder of their dominance and the price of defiance.

Name: Michael

Code Name: Subject-Abyss

Age: 64

Affiliation: Golden Federation

Physical Appearance: Height (199cm), lean body build, pitch black skintone.

Demigod Form:

Powers: Shadow Manipulation:

• Abyssal Cloak: Michael can envelop himself in darkness, becoming nearly invisible in low-light conditions. This cloak also enhances his physical resilience, as shadows absorb incoming damage.

• Shadow Constructs: He can create tangible objects or weapons from shadows, ranging from simple blades to intricate barriers.

• Dimensional Rift: By tapping into the Abyss, Michael can summon portals of darkness to transport himself or others over short distances. These rifts also serve as traps, pulling enemies into the void never to return.

• Sentient Shadows: Michael can animate his shadows, using them as extensions of himself to attack, restrain, or scout areas.

• Void Sense: His lack of a physical head has enhanced his perception through the Abyss, allowing him to see and hear across vast distances and detect lifeforms hidden in darkness.

• Corruptive Aura: Prolonged exposure to Michael’s shadows can weaken enemies, sapping their strength and resolve.

Info: Michael and his younger brother, Baldur, were born in the war-ravaged streets of Germany during the twilight years of global conflict. Orphaned at a young age, the two brothers were taken in by an enigmatic figure referred to only as the "Old Führer," a powerful and mysterious leader of a post-war German faction that later aligned with the Golden Federation. The Führer saw potential in the two boys and raised them to be tools of his vision, shaping them into disciplined warriors with unshakable loyalty to his ideals. At the tender age of eleven, both Michael and Baldur were inducted into the Kronos Initiative, a shadowy project aimed at forging superhuman soldiers. As part of their transformation, the brothers underwent excruciating procedures to unlock dormant abilities.

For Michael, this meant merging with the essence of the Abyss, an alternate dimension composed of pure darkness and negative energy. The procedure not only awakened his powers of Shadow Manipulation but also fundamentally altered his physical form: his head vanished entirely, absorbed into the Abyss itself. While this transformation was horrifying, Michael emerged with newfound abilities that placed him among the most formidable of the Kronos subjects. Despite his disfigurement, his voice could still be heard, and his vision extended far beyond human limits, leading to rumors that his head now resides in a different realm, tethered to him by the shadows he commands.

Michael is the epitome of loyalty and discipline, molded by the ideals instilled in him by the Führer and reinforced by the Federation’s doctrine. He is calm, calculating, and unwavering in his devotion to the cause. Despite his intimidating appearance, Michael exudes an aura of quiet authority, rarely raising his voice but commanding respect through his sheer presence. Beneath his stoic exterior, Michael harbors a deep bond with his brother Baldur, viewing him as the only remaining fragment of his humanity. The two share an unbreakable connection forged through shared suffering and survival. While Michael’s loyalty to the Federation is absolute, his love for his brother occasionally creates moments of introspection, as he questions the morality of their existence.

Michael’s loss of a physical head has become a defining feature of his identity. Rather than viewing it as a curse, he sees it as a symbol of his transcendence beyond human limitations. This detachment from his former self fuels his belief that he is no longer bound by human weaknesses, making him a highly focused and unrelenting force on the battlefield. Michael serves as an elite operative and enforcer for the Federation, specializing in covert operations and assassination missions. His ability to manipulate shadows makes him the perfect infiltrator, capable of dismantling enemy defenses without leaving a trace. Additionally, his strategic mind and calm demeanor make him a trusted advisor to high-ranking Federation officials. Despite his loyalty, Michael’s existence raises fear and awe in equal measure among his peers. His disfigurement and connection to the Abyss make him an unsettling figure, even to those who fight alongside him. Yet, his effectiveness in battle and unwavering dedication ensure that he remains an indispensable asset to the Federation.

Name: Felix

Code Name: Subject-Angel

Age: 28

Affiliation: Golden Federation

Physical Appearance: Height (186cm), toned body build, light fair skintone, short soft white wavy hair, and pale green eyes.

Demigod Form:

Powers: Divine Light:

• Radiant Energy Manipulation: Felix can project beams, bursts, or waves of concentrated light energy capable of incinerating enemies or shielding allies.

• Healing Touch: The Divine Light allows Felix to heal wounds and cure ailments.

• Light-Wings Manifestation: Felix can create ethereal wings of light to sprout from his back, granting him the ability to fly and enhancing his combat agility.

• Aura of Serenity: Felix radiates a calming presence that can inspire allies and demoralize enemies, often turning the tide of battle without lifting a finger.

• Enhanced Reflexes and Strength: The Divine Light amplifies his physical capabilities, making him faster, stronger, and more durable than any ordinary demigod.

Info: Felix, codenamed Subject-Angel, is the result of a clandestine project within the Golden Federation, designed to harness the essence of divine energy for the purpose of creating a perfect warrior and symbol of hope. Born into obscurity, Felix's early life was that of an ordinary child until the Kronos Initiative identified him as an ideal candidate for their ambitious experiment to merge human potential with celestial power. Despite these remarkable powers, the process left Felix with lingering scars—both physical and emotional. His body constantly burns with the energy he wields, requiring intense focus and discipline to avoid being consumed by it. Felix’s transformation into Subject-Angel shaped his personality profoundly. Having experienced the pain and isolation of being an experiment, he carries a quiet, reflective demeanor. He views himself as a protector of the innocent, driven by a deep sense of compassion and justice. However, he also struggles with the weight of being labeled a "divine being" and the expectations that come with it.

Felix often questions his purpose, torn between serving the Golden Federation, which he owes his existence to, and his desire to use his powers for the greater good, even if it means defying orders. His inner conflict makes him an enigmatic figure—respected and admired by those who meet him, yet deeply misunderstood. Felix serves as both a warrior and a symbol of divine authority for the Golden Federation. His presence on the battlefield inspires soldiers and civilians alike, often portrayed in propaganda as a "savior" figure. While Felix fulfills this role out of duty, he harbors doubts about the Federation’s morality, especially as he witnesses the suffering of those under its regime. The Federation leverages Felix’s abilities sparingly, recognizing that his power is as much a psychological weapon as it is a physical one. He is deployed in critical missions that require overwhelming force or the restoration of morale. Felix, however, secretly seeks opportunities to undermine the Federation’s more oppressive policies, acting as a covert protector for those who cannot defend themselves.

Name: Francis

Code Name: Subject-Devil

Age: 28

Affiliation: Golden Federation

Physical Appearance: Height (186cm), toned body build, light fair skintone, medium messy white hair, and pale blue eyes.

Demigod Form:

Powers: Demonic Hellfire:

• Hellfire Manipulation: Francis can summon and control infernal flames that burn hotter than conventional fire, capable of disintegrating nearly anything in their path.

• Infernal Armor: He can encase himself in flames that act as both a shield and a weapon, making him nearly invulnerable in close combat.

• Dark Teleportation: Using bursts of hellfire, Francis can instantly transport himself short distances, leaving trails of flame in his wake.

• Fear Aura: His presence can instill dread and panic in those around him, often rendering enemies too terrified to fight effectively.

• Enhanced Strength and Endurance: The hellfire within him fuels his body, making him physically stronger and more resilient than most demigods.

Info: Francis, codenamed Subject-Devil, is the twin brother of Felix (Subject-Angel). The two brothers share an intricate bond shaped by both their shared beginnings and their divergent paths within the Kronos Initiative. Like Felix, Francis was subjected to experiments intended to create demigods of unparalleled power. However, while Felix was infused with the celestial energy of Divine Light, Francis was imbued with the chaotic and destructive force of Demonic Hellfire. This duality of their powers—light and darkness—became both a symbol and a curse for the two brothers. The Federation saw them as the perfect embodiment of balance: Felix, the radiant savior, and Francis, the wrathful destroyer. Unlike Felix, who embraced his role as a protector, Francis was molded into a weapon of intimidation and devastation.

Francis's infusion with Demonic Hellfire left him with immense power, but it also came at a great cost. The process tethered him to an unrelenting, fiery rage that he must constantly suppress to retain his humanity. Francis is a complex individual, deeply conflicted by his role as Subject-Devil. Unlike Felix, who is revered as a beacon of hope, Francis is often feared and misunderstood, even by those within the Federation. This alienation has fostered a sense of resentment and loneliness, though he hides it beneath a stoic and guarded exterior. Despite his fearsome reputation, Francis possesses a strong moral compass and a fierce loyalty to those he cares about—particularly Felix. He resents the Federation for manipulating him and his brother, and he harbors a growing desire to break free from their control. However, he also struggles with self-doubt, fearing that the hellfire within him makes him irredeemable.

Francis's relationship with Felix is both a source of strength and tension. While they share a deep bond as twins, their opposing powers and roles often put them at odds. Francis envies Felix's ability to inspire hope and wonders if his own existence is doomed to destruction and despair. Francis serves as the Federation’s enforcer, deployed in situations where overwhelming force or intimidation is required. His mere presence on the battlefield is enough to demoralize opposition, and his hellfire ensures that few survive to tell the tale. The Federation uses him as a symbol of their dominance—a stark contrast to Felix’s role as their angelic savior. While Francis fulfills his duties out of obligation, he secretly despises being a tool of fear. He longs for a purpose beyond destruction and dreams of a day when he can wield his powers for something greater.

Name: Lunette O'Neill

Code Name: Subject-Primordial

Age: 49

Affiliation: Golden Federation

Physical Appearance: Height(169cm), slim body build, rosy ivory skintone, vivid red hair styled in soft waves, and gentle piercing golden eyes.

Demigod Form:

Powers: Fear Manipulation:

• Fear Projection: Lunette can induce vivid hallucinations and paralyzing terror in her targets by manifesting their worst fears. Her victims often experience debilitating mental breakdowns, rendering them unable to resist or fight back.

• Aura of Dread: Simply by entering a room, Lunette can exude an aura that instills unease and anxiety in everyone around her. The strength of this effect is proportional to her focus and intent.

• Emotional Manipulation: Beyond fear, Lunette has a subtle ability to manipulate other emotions, such as desperation, awe, or loyalty, allowing her to bend individuals to her will.

• Mental Fortitude: Her own mind is nearly impenetrable, making her immune to most forms of telepathy or psychological manipulation.

• Physical Agility and Strength: As a demigod, Lunette possesses enhanced reflexes, agility, and a strength beyond most demigods.

Info: Lunette O'Neill, also known as Subject-Primordial, was born into a tumultuous world where the Golden Federation's shadow loomed over every corner of society. Taken into the Kronos Initiative at the tender age of three alongside her older brother Flann, Lunette has no memory of her parents or life before the labs. The O'Neill siblings were orphans of war, plucked from the remnants of a forgotten Irish rebellion and subjected to the Federation's experiments in creating demigods. While Flann became a failed experiment and died his death was relegated to obscurity within the Initiative, and Lunette thrived. Her innate resilience and adaptability made her a prime candidate for the next phase of the Kronos Initiative: the manipulation of primal human emotions. Infused with the power of Fear Manipulation, Lunette became a master of psychological warfare.

Lunette is a formidable and charismatic figure, with a magnetic presence that draws others to her even as it unsettles them. She is fiercely independent and ambitious, often using her charm and cunning to get her way. While she appears poised and composed on the surface, Lunette is deeply calculating, always analyzing situations and people to her advantage. Her experiences in the Kronos Initiative have left her with a cynical view of the world. She sees life as a game of power and influence, and she plays it with unmatched precision. Lunette is not above using manipulation or intimidation to achieve her goals, but she also possesses a sharp wit and a dark sense of humor that make her company oddly captivating.

Lunette serves as one of the Federation's most effective agents in espionage and psychological operations. Her ability to control and weaponize fear makes her a valuable asset in quelling uprisings, interrogating prisoners, and eliminating threats before they can take root. However, Lunette's ambitions extend far beyond her current role. She has a knack for maneuvering herself into positions of influence, and she dreams of one day holding true power within the Federation. Her relationship with the Federation is complex. While she respects their vision of order and control, she resents being treated as just another tool in their arsenal. Lunette has been known to manipulate situations to suit her own agenda, often walking a fine line between loyalty and rebellion.

Name: Flann O'Neill

Code Name: Subject-7981

Age: 52

Affiliation: Golden Federation (Rebel)

Physical Appearance: Height (200cm), ripped fit body build, ivory pale skintone, long straight scarlet hair, and orange burning eyes.

Demigod Form:

Powers: Sun Embodiment:

• Solar Flare Projection: Flann can unleash concentrated blasts of solar energy, capable of incinerating anything within their radius. The intensity of these flares varies depending on his emotional state.

• Radiance Aura: His body emits a constant, low-level glow, which intensifies during combat or moments of heightened emotion. This aura can blind opponents or provide healing warmth to allies.

• Enhanced Strength and Durability: Flann’s physical capabilities are vastly superior to ordinary demigods, allowing him to endure extreme conditions and overpower even the strongest adversaries.

• Thermal Manipulation: He can manipulate heat within a certain radius, creating scorching environments or suppressing cold temperatures.

• Solar Regeneration: Flann possesses accelerated healing, though the energy required for regeneration draws from his solar reserves.

Info: Flann O'Neill, code-named Subject-7981, is the elder brother of Lunette O'Neill. Born amidst the chaos of a crumbling Irish rebellion, Flann’s early childhood was marked by loss and uncertainty. At just six years old, he and his younger sister were orphaned and subsequently taken into the Kronos Initiative, an experimental program of the Golden Federation. Unlike Lunette, whose adaptability allowed her to thrive, Flann’s journey through the Initiative was fraught with challenges. The experiments, designed to awaken latent powers within him, triggered abilities far beyond the Federation’s expectations.

Flann’s powers—the embodiment of the sun itself—proved to be too volatile to control. Viewing him as a threat, the Initiative confined him to a high-security facility after he attempted to escape during a destructive awakening of his abilities. To protect Lunette’s loyalty, the Initiative fabricated a story of Flann’s death. Flann is a complex individual, shaped by years of isolation and betrayal. Once a protective and optimistic older brother, his confinement has left him disillusioned and guarded. Despite this, a deep sense of duty and love for Lunette remains at his core, driving him to survive in the hopes of reuniting with her one day. The thought of her survival and potential happiness fuels his determination.

Flann’s feelings of guilt for failing to protect Lunette haunt him, though he also harbors anger toward the Federation for using them both as tools. Fortunately Flann is highly intelligent and resourceful, having spent decades studying his captors and planning potential escapes. He plans to one day rid himself of his wardens. And his time in solitude has also honed his resilience and mental fortitude, though it has come at the cost of his trust in others. He is quick to anger but equally quick to show compassion to those he deems deserving.

Name: Bernhard Ackermann

Code Name: Subject-Galaxy Rune

Age: 76

Affiliation: Golden Federation

Physical Appearance: Height (188cm), muscular body build, azure-blue skintone, blue medium spiky hair, and cyan glowing eyes.

Demigod Form:

Powers: Gravity Manipulation:

• Gravity Field Control: Bernhard can manipulate gravitational forces in his vicinity, increasing or decreasing their intensity at will. This allows him to immobilize opponents, create crushing pressure zones, or nullify gravity to cause weightlessness.

• Cosmic Strikes: By channeling celestial energy, Bernhard can deliver devastating attacks that mimic the force of a collapsing star. His strikes are both a physical and energy-based threat, capable of annihilating armored foes.

• Spatial Rift Generation: Bernhard has limited control over spacetime distortions, enabling him to create small wormholes for short-range teleportation or devastating implosions.

• Tactical Levitation: By nullifying gravity around himself, Bernhard can achieve flight and maneuver effortlessly in combat.

• Resilience of the Void: His modifications have granted him superhuman durability, longevity, and an ability to survive in extreme environments, including the vacuum of space.

Info: Bernhard Ackermann was born into the lap of military privilege in the heart of the Golden Federation. The son of General Dietrich Ackermann, one of the Federation’s most ambitious and ruthless leaders, Bernhard’s fate was sealed the moment he drew breath. As the scion of a military dynasty, great things were expected of him, but his father sought more than just a promising soldier — he sought a legacy of unparalleled power. At the age of fifteen, Bernhard was sent into the clutches of the Kronos Initiative, a top-secret program aimed at creating living weapons for the Federation. Dietrich, hungry for influence and personal gain, volunteered his only child for experimentation without a shred of hesitation. The rationale was simple: if the experiment succeeded, Dietrich would have an unmatched weapon under his command; if it failed, he would sever the weakness of sentimentality from his life.

Bernhard’s experience in the Initiative was marked by immense pain and isolation. Subjected to grueling tests and life-threatening experiments, he underwent a series of physical and genetic modifications to awaken the latent cosmic potential within him. This process forged his connection to the fundamental forces of the universe, granting him mastery over Gravity Manipulation. The boy who once sought to impress his father has long since disappeared, replaced by a hardened and enigmatic individual. Decades of servitude to the Federation have shaped Bernhard into a stoic and introspective figure. He rarely shows emotion, speaking only when necessary, and his words often carry an air of cosmic detachment, as if he is observing the world from a distance.

Deep within, however, Bernhard harbors a smoldering resentment toward his father and the Federation that made him what he is. He sees himself as a fractured being — part human, part cosmic anomaly, and entirely alone in the universe. This inner turmoil drives his quiet rebellion, as he dreams of breaking free from the chains of servitude and determining his own destiny. Bernhard is a man of profound intellect and discipline, capable of devising brilliant strategies in both combat and political intrigue. Despite his cold exterior, he possesses a keen sense of justice, though it is often obscured by his pragmatic approach to survival.

Within the Federation, Bernhard serves as a highly effective enforcer and tactician. His abilities make him a terrifying presence on the battlefield, capable of dismantling armies and subjugating entire regions. However, his true value lies in his strategic mind, which allows him to predict and counteract insurgencies with chilling efficiency. Despite his apparent loyalty, Bernhard’s relationship with the Federation is fraught with tension. He sees the organization as a corrupt machine that sacrifices individuals for the sake of power, and he loathes the fact that he has become one of its most potent tools.

Name: Ruth Perez

Code Name: Yggdrasil

Age: 39

Affiliation: Golden Federation

Physical Appearance: Height (177cm), toned curvy body build, a fawn skintone, medium messy platinum white hair, and bright sapphire eyes.

Demigod Form:

Powers: Ash Manipulation:

• Ash Manipulation: Ruth can create, control, and shape ash into various forms, from dense, weapon-like constructs to swirling storms that obscure visibility and choke opponents.

• Volcanic Ash: She can generate superheated ash capable of burning through metal and flesh, making her attacks devastatingly lethal.

• Phoenix’s Renewal: By absorbing ash, Ruth can accelerate her healing process, recovering from wounds that would be fatal to ordinary humans.

• Ashen Veil: Ruth can cloak herself in a shroud of ash, rendering her nearly invisible in smoky or dim environments while disorienting enemies.

• Rebirth Field: Ruth can release a burst of ash that simultaneously destroys everything within a certain radius while healing her allies and herself.

• Catalyst Touch: Ruth’s presence can decay objects or materials into ash with a mere touch, though this requires deliberate activation.

Info: Born into the illustrious Perez family, one of Spain's wealthiest and most influential dynasties, Ruth’s life began with luxury and privilege. Her family’s fortune was built on a sprawling business empire that ranged from mining to luxury goods, with connections that extended into international politics and, crucially, the Golden Federation. However, beneath the glamour and prestige, the Perez family’s loyalty to the Federation came with a steep price. Ruth, the youngest of four siblings, was an unwanted child in a family preoccupied with power and appearances. When the Federation approached the Perez family with an opportunity to strengthen their alliance by offering a child for the Kronos Initiative, Ruth’s parents saw her as expendable.

At the tender age of six, Ruth was taken from her gilded world and delivered into the cold, sterile hands of the Federation scientists. The experiments conducted on Ruth were designed to unlock latent abilities tied to elemental manipulation. Through years of excruciating trials, her powers began to manifest: the ability to manipulate and control ash, a symbol of destruction and renewal. The Federation named her Subject-Yggdrasil, a reference to the Norse tree of life, underscoring her dual nature as a harbinger of ruin and rebirth. Ruth’s personality is shaped by a life of betrayal, survival, and defiance. While her upbringing in the Perez family left her with an ingrained sense of poise and cunning, the trauma of being handed over to the Federation instilled in her a fierce independence and distrust of authority.

She is deeply resentful of her family’s decision to abandon her and harbors a quiet but intense hatred for the Federation, despite serving as one of their operatives. Ruth is calculated and resourceful, always looking for ways to turn situations to her advantage. She has a sharp tongue and an unyielding determination that makes her both a respected and feared figure among her peers. Beneath her hardened exterior, however, lies a deep yearning for freedom and a sense of belonging, emotions she rarely allows herself to show. Her codename, Yggdrasil, reflects the duality of her powers and her personality: destruction paired with regeneration, death alongside life. Ruth often muses on the irony of her role in the Federation, as both a weapon of annihilation and a symbol of rebirth. Ruth’s powers make her an invaluable asset to the Federation’s covert and tactical operations. Her ability to devastate enemy strongholds while minimizing casualties on her side has earned her a reputation as a strategic genius and a force to be reckoned with.

She is often deployed in missions requiring surgical precision and overwhelming firepower, where her ash manipulation can be used to both destroy and conceal. Despite her effectiveness, Ruth’s loyalty to the Federation is far from absolute. She views her role as a means to an end, biding her time while searching for opportunities to undermine the organization that robbed her of her childhood. Her superiors are aware of her rebellious streak but tolerate it because of her unparalleled success rate and the fear she inspires in both allies and enemies.

Name: Gabriel Althaus

Code Name: Subject-19 (The Eternal Shield)

Age: 90

Affiliation: Golden Federation

Physical Appearance: Height (193cm), lean toned body build, very fair skintone, messy platinum blonde hair, and calculating golden eyes.

Demigod Form:

Powers: Order Manipulation:

• Systematic Control: Gabriel can restructure and reorganize any system — biological, mechanical, or societal — to operate according to his precise specifications. This includes halting chaotic processes or optimizing systems for efficiency.

• Reality Anchoring: He can stabilize unstable environments, nullify chaotic powers (such as entropy-based or random abilities), and restore balance to fractured spaces.

• Command of Forces: Gabriel has the ability to dictate the behavior of objects or entities within a defined area, enforcing strict rules that cannot be broken. For example, he can create zones where only he can act or where certain actions are prohibited.

• Temporal Regulation: While not capable of outright time manipulation, Gabriel can slow, accelerate, or pause processes in localized areas, granting him an advantage in combat and strategy.

• Mental Domination: Gabriel’s presence exudes authority, allowing him to impose his will on weaker minds. He can compel obedience, quell rebellion, and instill order within disorganized groups.

• Immutable Constructs: He can forge structures of pure order, such as barriers, weapons, or even autonomous constructs, which are nearly indestructible and operate with mechanical precision.

Info: Born in 1927 in Berlin, Gabriel Althaus grew up during one of the most tumultuous periods in German history. The upheavals of World War II shaped his early life, fostering a deep-seated desire for order and control amidst chaos. Coming from a middle-class family with no significant influence, Gabriel’s aspirations to rise above his station were stoked by the crumbling society around him. In 1949, as post-war Germany struggled to rebuild, Gabriel became one of the first to volunteer for the Kronos Initiative, an experimental program under Federation oversight designed to create “Demigods” — beings who could wield powers beyond human comprehension. The program's early iterations were riddled with failure, leading to catastrophic losses. Out of 10,000 initial volunteers, Gabriel was the sole survivor, enduring excruciating trials that pushed his body and mind beyond natural limits. The experiments awakened his latent ability to manipulate order — the power to impose structure, enforce stability, and control both the physical and metaphysical aspects of reality. His survival and success marked him as Subject-19, Germany's first Demigod and the prototype for the Kronos Initiative's later experiments on children.

Gabriel presents himself as a calm, gentle leader who prioritizes stability and progress. His voice carries a reassuring tone, his words carefully chosen to inspire trust and loyalty. Many within the Federation view him as a benevolent father figure, someone who seeks to guide humanity toward a brighter future. However, this facade hides his true nature: a ruthless, calculating, and deeply controlling individual. Gabriel is an extreme perfectionist, obsessed with eliminating chaos in all its forms. He abhors unpredictability and views disorder as the root of all suffering. This ideology has driven him to commit unspeakable atrocities in the name of maintaining order, including purges, forced compliance, and the eradication of entire populations deemed "uncontrollable." He takes a particular pride in the Kronos Initiative, viewing its later success with children as a validation of his sacrifices.

However, he harbors a deep disdain for those who fail to meet his expectations, considering them weak and disposable. As one of the founding members of the Golden Federation’s High Council, Gabriel wields immense political and military influence. His contributions to the Kronos Initiative and his survival as the first successful Demigod have earned him a near-mythical status within the organization. He is the architect of many of the Federation’s policies, particularly those emphasizing discipline, hierarchy, and control. Gabriel’s council seat places him at the heart of the Federation’s decision-making process. He oversees not only the Demigod programs but also the enforcement of Federation laws and the suppression of dissent. His vision for the Federation is a world where chaos is eradicated, and every individual serves a designated purpose.

Gabriel’s ultimate ambition is to create a world of perfect order, where every individual functions as a cog in a grand machine. He believes that chaos, freedom, and individuality are dangerous illusions that lead to destruction. His vision is one of absolute control, where the Federation acts as the sole arbiter of justice and progress. While Gabriel publicly preaches unity and harmony, his methods often involve coercion, manipulation, and outright brutality. He sees himself as humanity’s savior, willing to bear the weight of his actions for the sake of a greater good.